Unspoken
by Terp4Life
Summary: 3 years late to the party, I just caught up with Fringe... and I'm intrigued by the looks that Peter and Olivia give each other, which say far, far more than they say in words. The rest of this... well, it just spiraled from there... :)
1. Insincere

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: Today's monologue in my head goes as follows:_

 _I will not write a Fringe fanfic. I will not write a Fringe fanfic. I will not write a Fringe fanfic._

 _It's a ridiculous thing to do, right? After all, *I* just finished watching it (all 100 episodes in 13 days), but it's been off the air for_ _ **3 years**_ _! It doesn't make any sense to write something new at this point. Why am I even thinking about it?_

 _This is what I've told myself, except that I'm not listening. I tend to fall hard for TV characters, and when I do, logic does not make a bit of difference to me. So I'm doing it anyway. I don't usually write one shots – I have this tendency to write what my husband helpfully points out are stories that are longer than many actual novels. Like I said, I fall hard for characters and it takes me a long time to work through my feelings. :) I love to poke around in their heads and see what makes them tick, and go beyond what they say and do on TV. So I have no idea how many chapters this will be or if there's anyone out there to read it. For me it's mostly a way of working through my newfound love for Peter and Olivia. It's much cheaper and more fun than therapy, after all._

 _OK, enough babbling, here it is. If you have thoughts, please leave them for me. Thanks!_

He could just tell that she was going to be a pain in his ass.

As he reached the bottom of the open, wide spiral staircase after a successful meeting with a pair of new clients at what was arguably the nicest hotel in Baghdad, he heard his name being called by an unfamiliar woman's voice. This was unexpected, since he was there on business, and because he chose his meeting locations carefully so that he _wouldn't_ be ambushed. Clearly, he'd missed something this time. Who else could possibly know him here? He turned to face her, and was surprised to see a woman whose blonde hair and western clothing made her stick out sharply in this part of the world.

"Peter Bishop? Olivia Dunham," she said, extending her hand to him for a handshake and looking him firmly in the eyes. "I'm with the FBI."

He paused for a second to consider this new information. She was certainly not what he envisioned an FBI agent to look like – he'd dealt with a few of them when he was on jobs in the States, but none that looked like her. He was almost distracted from her all-business tone by her long, straight blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail. She was dressed casually, khakis and a dark brown t-shirt, which he couldn't help but notice fit her _perfectly._ While he found himself slightly distracted by her, he quickly realized that she was looking at him deathly seriously, as though state secrets were at stake. Still, he imagined that he could probably charm her pretty easily, as he generally could with most women.

He had a way with women, and while he wasn't one to brag, he was had more than his fair share of confidence. Really, he had a way with most people in general. In his line of work, such as it was, that was an absolute necessity. He'd always been able to tell people exactly what they wanted to hear in exactly the way that they wanted to hear it, and make them believe him, even when it was purely bullshit. This skill had gotten him into a _ton_ of trouble, but it had also gotten him _out_ of trouble even more times. He didn't really care for the label of "con man," but he supposed that that was what he was.

So the woman standing in front of him was an FBI agent. The FBI, of course, only had jurisdiction in the United States, which made him immediately wonder what she was doing there. Logically he had no reason to be nervous – there was nothing to suggest that she had anything on him for any of his past or present jobs.

"Okay," was his only response, still waiting to find out what she wanted. It occurred to him that it could be bad for business to be seen standing in this lobby, conversing with an FBI agent, and he was a little bit anxious to be done with this conversation already.

It was the serious look on her face, the one that told him that she took herself and her job _far_ too seriously, combined with the determination that he saw in her eyes, that immediately told him that she was going to be a pain in his ass, that she wasn't going to just ask him a question and then go away.

He smiled at her insincerely, already having been on high alert for trouble from the moment she said that she was with the FBI. What did she know about him? Was he being investigated? No, that couldn't be it. First of all, he was far too careful. _Always._ He didn't like to brag, but he knew without a doubt that he was good at what he did – which was almost anything, really. He found a need and he filled it. With the people who he generally worked for, he wouldn't have survived this long if he _wasn't_ good at what he did.

Secondly, if someone had been investigating him, that would have been the job of the CIA, and they wouldn't have come right up to him and announced themselves. _Just wait and see what she has to say_ , he told himself as he continued to smile at her. Despite the fact that he knew she couldn't possibly have anything on him, he felt more than a little uncomfortable with the way she was studying him. After all, he could read people, and he could tell that she could, too.

When she'd finally made her request – for some insane reason, she wanted to talk to his crazy ass father back in the loony bin back in Boston, and she couldn't get in without him because only immediate family was authorized to visit – he relaxed. There was absolutely no way he was abandoning the deal he had just set up to fly halfway around the world to do this woman, this stranger who was a damn _federal agent_ , a favor. He hadn't felt any remorse whatsoever when he'd turned to walk away from her. He couldn't believe she was asking that of him in the first place.

As he started walking away and she suddenly told him, to his back, that she was _begging_ for his help, he turned around and was surprised to see something in her eyes that he hadn't expected from someone who a second ago had seemed like such a hard-ass. _Pleading_. This was clearly very personal to her, and suddenly he knew that he held all of the power, a feeling that he'd always enjoyed.

"I'm going to beg you, as one human being to another. Your father may be able to save someone who's dying. Someone I care about very much." She stared at him, her expression suddenly revealing that she was at his mercy.

For just a second, he felt something that surprised him. Just then, if it had been within his power to help her without completely sabotaging his own business, he would have. He couldn't say exactly what it was about her, about the way she was looking at him… people didn't get to him. They just didn't. He was the one who manipulated others – because he did know that that was what he did – not the other way around. He stared at her for a second, wondering what the hell was happening to him, then quickly regained control of himself.

 _Clearly, she isn't as good at what she does as I thought_ , he thought as he turned to walk away once again, dismissing her pleas with a line about how "we all care about someone who's dying." Even if he wanted to help her, there was no way in hell he was going anywhere near Boston, and certainly not anywhere near the man he only grudgingly admitted was his father.

It wasn't until this, the second time he turned to walk away, however, that she _truly_ surprised him. He'd already made it across the lobby by then, done with the conversation and unwilling to even entertain the idea of returning to the States with her just so that she could talk to his father. _So sorry about that guy you wanted to save, but I can't help you_ , he thought as he left her standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching him go.

But he was about to learn that she wasn't finished with him yet. There in the midst of the crowded hotel lobby, she'd raised her voice to an uncomfortably loud volume, and her next words had him turning around immediately to face her again, ready to say whatever was necessary to just get her to stop talking. "I know why you're here," she told him. He had the sinking feeling that his expression was betraying him, but try as he might, he just couldn't force a more convincing smile to appear on his face. Peter Bishop didn't get nervous, but that was exactly what he was now feeling.

 _What the hell was she talking about?_

Did he really believe that the FBI had a file on him, as she claimed? He laughed nervously when she told him that they did. He didn't quite believe it, but he was unable to discount the idea completely, just in case it was the truth. It was simply too big of a gamble to take, even for him. Now her eyes, the desperation in which he had mistaken for weakness only a moment ago, told him something else altogether.

Not only had he underestimated her, but he wasn't the one who was in control, after all. And apparently, despite his refusal a moment before, he was about to return to Boston with her.

She'd seen pictures of him, of course, but even so, in real life he looked younger than she had expected. Somehow he looked every bit the self-assured genius, and yet also less of the stereotypical, slick con man, more of the ruggedly handsome type than what she'd imagined. He looked to her like a guy who could fake humility when he needed to, but who, in reality, possessed far more than a healthy amount of confidence. After all, from what she'd read, he was most likely accustomed to being the smartest one in the room pretty much all the time. If that meant that he was about to underestimate her, then all the better. She'd long since learned to use this to her advantage.

Yes, she had to concede that he was good looking – not that anything about the way he looked mattered in this situation. What she knew about his questionable past activities was more than enough to keep her from believing whatever he might be about to say. On the contrary, she was pretty sure that she'd be able to use his past deception to her advantage, if that became necessary. She didn't have specific details about his business dealings, if that's what you wanted to call them, but there was no reason that _he_ had to know that. Really, what she knew of what he'd managed to accomplish over the years was, while illegal, quite impressive. Too bad he'd decided to use his talents on the wrong side of the law, or he might have had a career in law enforcement.

She spotted him quickly as he came down the stairs of one of the nicer hotels in Baghdad, where she'd managed to track him down, noting with satisfaction that as soon as she introduced herself, he seemed to become noticeably uncomfortable. His discomfort appeared to start as soon as she'd uttered the letters "FBI." Not that it came as too great a surprise, considering the illegal activities that she knew he'd been engaged in, to say nothing of whatever he'd done that they _didn't_ know about. Surely with his record, there were plenty of things for which he was worried about being investigated.

Looking into his eyes, however, as she watched him display just a touch of – was it anxiety? – over what she was doing there, she couldn't but help feel like whatever he'd managed to get away with up until then, somehow there was still more to him than what she'd read in her research. She couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, and at that moment it didn't really matter.

The only thing that _did_ matter was that she needed a way to convince Peter to come back to Boston with her so that she could get into St. Clair's to talk to his father, whether he wanted to or not. Walter Bishop was her only lead, the only person who could help her save John. She wondered if she'd be able to successfully bluff the con man, so as she looked at him, she made sure that she exuded even more confidence that she actually felt.

His forced pleasant demeanor quickly evaporated, however, when she explained why she was there. It wasn't only his voice that seemed to spit venom at her for even uttering his father's name, it was his eyes as well. While every family had their issues, it appeared that there was a lot more behind this apparently dysfunctional father son relationship than her notes had led her to believe.

"And what is it exactly that you're expecting me to do? Hop on a plane with you back to Massachusetts? I just got here, _honey."_

Inside, she cringed at that last word. For whatever reason, some men seemed to believe that just because she was a woman, they could get away with calling her, a complete stranger and a federal agent, by some sort of pet name that should have been reserved for someone who they knew _far_ better. It had always irritated her, and it did so now even more so, because it only showed his arrogance that much more clearly. She could see now that he wasn't going to help her voluntarily, and she knew that she had to change her tactic quickly, before he walked away. Since he seemed to have already decided to see her as some sort of weaker competitor in this game they were playing, she decided that she'd try to use that to her advantage. It wasn't that hard, after all, since she did actually _feel_ desperate to save John. Now she just had to play up that side of herself.

"I'm going to beg you, as one human being to another. Your father may be able to save someone who's dying. Someone I care about very much." She stared at him, hoping that she was pulling it off convincingly. There wasn't a lot of acting involved, after all, it was more a matter of letting the emotions that she actually felt show through. Usually she worked hard to do just the opposite.

As she looked into his eyes, attempting to hold him there for as long as possible, for a second she thought that she had him. He looked as though he actually did want to help her. But then he looked away, and sighed, and when he looked back at her she saw regret, but not enough that he was going to do what she wanted him to do. It had been something of a Hail Mary, she knew, as what she was asking of him was no small thing. Frustration boiled inside her, knowing that she'd been close to getting him to agree, but just not quite close enough.

Watching him turn away once more, as he uttered, "I can't help you, I'm sorry," in a tone that told her that he wasn't actually very sorry at all, she knew that she had time for one more attempt. She was about to see if she could out-con the con man.

Before he got more than a few steps away, she rearranged the expression on her face so that there was no sign of the desperation that had been there a moment ago. Her expression was once again a mask of determination.

"I know why you're here," she told him loudly, not caring how many people overheard her. On the contrary, this was a big part of her strategy, because she had a strong suspicion that he _did_ care about being overheard. Her hunch was proven right when he turned back towards her immediately, his eyes revealing surprise and discomfort. He stood there, waiting to hear what she would say next, clearly thrown off balance by her change in tactic.

"I have your file," she continued, her voice now icy. He smiled at her, a smile that an untrained eye might have seen as genuine, but that she recognized as covering his sudden nervousness.

"What file?" he asked, pretending that he was only casually interested, feigning innocence.

"The one the FBI would say doesn't exist," she replied boldly. Inside, she actually wanted to laugh, since she was telling the truth about one thing – they would say the file didn't exist because it _didn't_ actually exist… but Peter didn't need to know that.

Speaking of Peter, he'd just experienced a dramatic change in his demeanor, and was now glancing around nervously as he began walking back towards her, smiling as though everything was fine. She didn't want to be overly confident, but thought that she might actually have him this time. She'd certainly gotten his attention, that much was for sure.

"And it has _everything,_ " she continued, looking him straight in the eyes, the look on her face completely serious. "Where you've been, what you're running from…" She was actually almost enjoying this, her voice growing quieter as he approached her. "…And what you need while you're here." He was standing right in front of her now, the two of them facing off. He looked into her eyes for a second, then his gaze lifted up above her head to scan the crowd in the lobby. This was working out better than she'd hoped, because she could now see just how very nervous he was.

"So either you come with me," she told him, attempting to finish the transaction as he finally looked back at her, "or I let certain people know your whereabouts." He smiled ever so slightly, once again glancing around the lobby, going so far as to turn his head to inspect more of the crowd at the edges of the large room. Turning back to her, he now smiled broadly, though insincerely, and she knew before he said anything that she'd won. His words were just icing on the cake.

"When do we leave?"

She felt smug satisfaction as she looked back at him, her face revealing nothing of her thoughts. "Right now," she told him seriously. "Let's go get your things."

And just like that, without either of them knowing it at the time, their adventure had only just begun.


	2. Intense

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who read chapter 1, to the people who wrote me such kind reviews, and for the warm welcome to the Fringe fandom. As you're about to see, I love to both expand on the canon scenes_ _ **and**_ _add in my own. Being new to these characters, I'm hoping I'm doing them justice. And of course, I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it! (I already have quite a few more planned out!)_

In less than two hours, they were on the plane and in the air, headed away from the desert of Iraq and back toward winter in Boston. He still wasn't quite clear over how exactly this day had taken such a dramatic turn for the worst. Because aside from being killed or tortured by his less than polite clients, he was pretty sure that being coerced into helping the FBI _and_ having to see his father for the first time in nearly two decades was right up at the top of the list of the _worst_ things that could happen to him. At least, he couldn't think of much that was worse that didn't end with his death.

Peter had been sitting at the opposite end of the plane since they'd taken off more than an hour ago, fuming, but eventually he found himself calming down to the point where he realized that he wanted answers. After all, _why_ was Olivia Dunham so sure that his father, who was so obviously crazy, would be able to tell her _anything_ useful about her friend's condition? What in the world could the connection be?

Finally his need for answers outweighed his annoyance at being dragged back to Boston. Hesitantly, he got out of his seat, walking slowly back toward where she was sitting, finishing a phone call. He heard her asking someone about her friend's condition as he sat down in the seat across from her, finally ready to play nice. He watched as she looked at him, appearing surprised to see him sitting across from her. _Fair enough_ , he thought. He knew that he hadn't exactly been pleasant in the past few hours.

She was surprised to see him sit down across from her as she finished her phone call. He'd been acting like a petulant child who wasn't getting his way ever since she'd played her trump card, convincing him that she would out him to his "clients." While she couldn't help but feel that it had been a brilliant move, and obviously it had been necessary since he wasn't willing to help her out of the goodness of his heart, she couldn't help but feel just a little bit guilty for lying to him. Not guilty enough to tell him the truth, of course, not _yet_ , anyway… but enough that she was willing to overlook his behavior in the past few hours and be civil to him. She was pretty sure that he wanted some answers, which was understandable in his situation. After all, she would too, if she were him.

Putting away her phone, she regarded him from across the low table that separated the two chairs, waiting for him to speak.

He exhaled quickly, then began. "Let me ask you something. My father… not my favorite."

 _That seems like an understatement,_ she thought, but said nothing.

"He is without a doubt, the most self-absorbed, twisted, abusive, brilliant, myopic son of a bitch on the planet." She sat perfectly still, wondering where exactly this was going. Peter, on the other hand, seemed to relax as he spoke. She couldn't help but notice that suddenly, it was as if he was a totally different person than the one with whom she'd had a battle of wills only a few hours before.

"So he was a chemist." Peter leaned forward, continuing. "That much I already know." He went on to lay out exactly what he knew about his father's work for a toothpaste company at the lab at Harvard, about an accident in his lab that resulted in his father being arrested. Olivia listened, arms folded, smiling ever so slightly to hear the version of events that Peter had grown up believing.

"But here's the thing, Olivia," he continued. The hint of a smile disappeared from her lips. "My gut tells me that your friend's life, the one hanging in the balance… not gonna be saved by a tube of toothpaste." She looked away then, considering the situation. The man in front of her was clearly much too smart to believe what he'd been told as a child. The fact that she'd dragged him back from Iraq for the chance to speak to his father had shattered that illusion. She considered for a second how much to tell him. He was involved, so it wasn't out of the question to read him in… she could at least tell him _that_ much, she decided.

Looking back at him seriously, she took a breath and began. "He worked out of Harvard, but not on toothpaste. He was part of a classified US Army experimental program called Kelvin Genetics. They gave him the resources to do whatever work he wanted, which was primarily in an area called Fringe Science."

While Olivia had been talking, Peter had been alternating between studying her closely in disbelief, looking away and then, when she mentioned _Fringe Science_ , he'd made a face that could only be described as something very much like disgust.

"When you say _Fringe Science_ , you mean pseudoscience," he said skeptically.

"I suppose," Olivia replied evenly. After all, she _knew_ how crazy she sounded. She'd thought exactly the same thing at first. "Things like mind control, teleportation, astral projection, invisibility, genetic mutation, reanimation—"

"Whoa, excuse me for a sec. _Reanimation? Really?_ " he interrupted her, smiling at the absurdity of it all. How had _she_ , an FBI agent, been able to even say that with a straight face, much less admit that such things could be possible? Did she actually believe in any of the crap she'd just listed off? Just saying the words "Fringe Science" was enough to make a person sound crazy, after all. She couldn't be _serious_ … could she?

Looking in her eyes, however, he could see that she was.

He couldn't help the feeling of disbelief that washed over him. No, it was _impossible_.

He felt unsettled, to say the least, to learn that his father had been some sort of mad scientist, apparently researching things that couldn't actually be done. No _wonder_ he'd ended up in a mental institution… And yet…

"So, you're telling me… what? My father was Dr. Frankenstein."

It was a question, and yet, it wasn't. Her explanation had left him completely taken aback, it had made him angry – though he wasn't quite sure _why_ , and yet… it all made perfect sense at the same time. It was strange, because despite the fact that what she was telling him should have been impossible, it should have made him laugh in her face, somehow the look in her eyes told him that what she was saying was absolutely the truth. The only difference was that he'd just never had clearance to know about it before.

Peter himself wasn't a scientist, per se, just exceptionally smart and able to comprehend things at a higher level than the average person, and while he knew that those things – this "fringe science" – might be _theoretically_ possible, the chances of a scientist of moderate intelligence being able to accomplish any of them seemed… _unlikely_ , to say the least. Never mind a scientist who had proven that he was crazy, resulting in nearly two decades in a mental institution

They stared at each other from the respective stiff airplane seats, facing each other, and somehow he saw something in her that he couldn't quite articulate at that point. All he knew was that most people, when faced with that same stare that he was focusing on her, revealed _something_ in their eyes, usually without even realizing it. But not Olivia Dunham. She revealed _nothing_ , and it both confused and intrigued him.

They stared at each other for what felt like a long time. He'd just compared his own father to Dr. Frankenstein and she hadn't batted an eye. He'd meant it as a joke… well, sort of. So, what was she saying…? That that's what he _was_?

He couldn't remember the last time someone had locked eyes with him for so long without looking away. He was _never_ the first one to look away – most people did so within seconds, uncomfortable with prolonged eye contact. Again, he got the feeling that the two of them were more similar than he'd thought possible. Frighteningly so, even.

"You don't actually believe in all that crap that my father supposedly did... do you?" he asked her, tilting his head slightly and turning down the intensity of the look on his face to an almost friendly one, but still not looking away.

She could see what he was doing, this staring contest he was daring her to continue, and it was somewhat amusing. "I don't know," she replied evenly. "A few weeks ago, I wouldn't have. But the things I've seen recently… I've been recruited to investigate _fringe science_ , so things have gotten… strange…" Trailing off, she shrugged her shoulders, still not willing to be the first one to look away. "I just don't know."

He found himself smiling slightly then, and he realized as he glanced away for half a second, suddenly chuckling softly at her serious expression, that he'd just looked away first. He nodded, looking back at her and suddenly feeling as though he was being evaluated. Or more accurately, that he was _still_ being evaluated.

"What?" he asked self-consciously as she continued to look at him with a serious expression, as though there was something on her mind.

She shook her head quickly, only just realizing that she had been staring at him far more seriously than she'd realized – it was her default look in work situations, after all – and her expression slowly changed into what he would have described as _almost_ a smile. "Nothing… sorry."

Though it was barely even there, it was the most genuine smile he'd gotten from her so far. Despite how annoyed he had been with her since the moment they'd met, he had to admit that she was beautiful. Frustrating, but beautiful.

The staring contest over, she allowed herself to glance away, her eyes fixing on a point on the opposite wall distractedly as her mind continued to work a mile a minute. She didn't even realize she'd zoned out until suddenly she had the distinct feeling that she was being watched. Her eyes darted back to Peter, who was indeed looking at her intently, curiously. His eyebrows raised questioningly when their eyes met.

"Sorry, just… a lot on my mind," she said quickly, shaking her head to try to clear her thoughts. She'd momentarily been overtaken with thoughts of the last time she'd seen John. She knew that dwelling on his condition wasn't going to help. The only useful thing she could do was what she was already doing – bringing Peter Bishop back to Boston to help her get her in to see his father, and hope that Walter Bishop had some answers. Beyond that, there was nothing she could do at that moment, as much as she hated to admit it. She'd never been a patient person.

Peter nodded, continuing to watch her with fascination, glancing away now and then, but his eyes always returning to her. Olivia, though more lost in her own thoughts, did basically the same, alternating between glancing at Peter and looking distractedly around the plane, both of them so curious about the other, but preferring to just observe than to make conversation.

Eventually Peter got up and stretched, walking past Olivia toward the far end of the plane. She barely noticed, still lost in thought, and was surprised when, a few minutes later, he returned with a cardboard cup in each hand. Before sitting down, he stood in front of her and held out a cup. "Coffee?" he asked. She took it with a surprised smile.

"Thanks," she replied, grateful for the peace offering after what had been something of a hostile start between them. No, Peter Bishop didn't seem like simply a con man… though of course, this other side of him that she seemed to be seeing could well be part of the act. She pondered this idea as he sat back down across from her, settling into his seat and leaning his head tiredly against his hand, his elbow propped on the armrest beside him. Again, she studied him carefully, attempting to look completely disinterested in what he was doing.

Only time would tell.


	3. Anxious

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: I had originally planned for this chapter to be part of chapter two, along with what will probably be several more after this, but it grew quickly into its own chapter. It happens to me a lot - I start writing and just can't stop. :) Hope you enjoy it!_

The weather was cold and gray as they drove through the icy streets to St. Claire's. Olivia clenched the steering wheel anxiously, but not because of the road conditions. No, she was used to driving in the snow and ice that came with winter in Boston. Her current mood was more to do with her mission. The closer they got to St. Claire's, the deeper the furrows of anxiety on her face became.

Peter watched her from the passenger seat, glancing at her periodically as they drove in silence. He tried a few times to make conversation, but really, there wasn't much to talk about. He was only there because she needed something from him, and the closer they got to her goal, the less she seemed to want to talk. He wasn't exactly happy to be there, so after a few failed attempts at conversation just for the sake of breaking the silence, he decided it was a lost cause and gave up. In the two days that he'd known her, she'd proven she could be frustrating to the point where he very much wanted to wring her neck… and yet, for some reason he was fascinated by her. He usually understood people pretty easily, but she was an exception.

Checking in at the reception desk was easier and less time-consuming than Olivia had feared it would be, and before they knew it they were navigating the maze of hallways of the overwhelming facility, each corridor locked by barred gates at both ends. It felt like a prison, not a hospital, not least because Olivia and Peter were flanked by an unsmiling man in a police uniform as well as the orderly in light colored scrubs. She walked not far behind the officer, while Peter, feeling his skin crawl more and more at his surroundings, found himself hanging farther and farther back behind her.

He _really_ didn't want to be there. Of course, he'd known that since the first time he told her, back in Iraq, that was absolutely _not_ coming back to Boston with her, that he would have nothing to do with her talking to his father. The further into the maze they went, the more anxious he became to get _out_ of there _,_ to be literally _anywhere_ else in the world. What the hell was he thinking, coming here? He'd avoided this place completely for the past seventeen years, after all, and for good reason. He had no desire to see or talk to the man that he didn't even want to admit to himself was his father. Zero.

 _Oh right,_ he thought almost immediately, glancing at Olivia a few feet ahead of him, making her way down the hallway that would lead her to Walter. _What_ _you were thinking was that you needed to stop that FBI agent in front of you from exposing all of your secrets, which would probably have gotten you killed_. _All things considered, it was the right choice._ He could grudgingly admit that where he was at that moment was one step above at least one thing – death.

But that didn't mean that he liked the position in which he found himself. He felt his frustration growing again, specifically his frustration with _her_. After all, she'd gotten exactly what _she'd_ wanted. Despite the fact that he'd flatly refused to do so, he'd come back to Boston, all the way to St. Claire's, and had gotten her in. She was moments away from talking to Walter, asking him her questions and possibly saving her friend's life. Whether or not she got the answers she wanted, well, that was out of his control. Surely she didn't need him trailing behind her for an awkward reunion with a man that he'd fought so long and so hard to have nothing to do with. How could _that_ possibly benefit her?

The simple answer was that it couldn't, of course. And so, as they turned down yet _another_ hall lined with doors that seemed only one step short of the barred cells of a jail, Peter suddenly stopped walking. He was beyond annoyed, and he was just… _done_. With all of it, and especially with _her_.

"You know what?" he asked as she turned around to face him. "Why don't you go on ahead?" She noticed that he was looking more uncomfortable by the second, and she found it mildly interesting that this con man, with years of experience in hiding his "tells," looked so blatantly… _anxious_.

 _Shouldn't he be able to, I don't know, hide that better?_ she thought dismissively as she faced him. Her face, however, gave away nothing. Her poker face on the job was one of her greatest strengths. It always had been.

Looking at the situation objectively, she realized that she shouldn't be all that surprised that Peter was having this kind of emotional reaction. Apparently when he'd described how vehemently he _didn't_ want to be there, he hadn't been exaggerating. What _did_ surprise her, however, was that his distress about the situation seemed to be written so clearly on his face. She considered that maybe, because the situation was so personal, he was having more trouble hiding his emotions than he had when they'd first met and he'd been in "work mode."

He hadn't really struck her as a guy who would let himself lose control. On the contrary, up until then he'd seemed like a guy who was accustomed to being in control just about all of the time. Then it hit her. _But almost since the moment we met, I've been the one in control_. So maybe he _wasn't_ quite in control of his emotions just then…? It was impossible to know without coming out and asking him, which she was relatively sure he would _not_ appreciate just then.

Though it really didn't make a difference to her one way or another at that moment what was driving the look of panic on his face, she was still mildly curious about just what was going on in his head. After all, a big part of her job was to make observations about people. She basically did it without having to think about it.

Staring at him blankly, she didn't even reply. She'd been too focused on attempting to read his expression, which had told her quite a bit. As she continued to stare at him, he looked away, a further show of just how shaken he was by this situation. She thought back to their conversation on the plane, when they'd been sitting so close together and still, he hadn't wanted to look away. He was a paradox.

No, as far as she could tell, the Peter Bishop in front of her was completely unlike the Peter Bishop she had met only yesterday, the one who had successfully portrayed himself as confident to a fault at their first meeting. She suddenly remembered one of her initial observations about him – that she could have sworn, for no particular reason other than just a feeling, that there was more to him than just simply a con man – and filed this incident away under that heading for future reference. But this was not the time to analyze the various sides of his personality.

He found it strange that she still hadn't spoken a word since he told her he wasn't going any further with her. Not an "okay," not a nod of the head, no form of acknowledgment that he had spoken at all, other than the fact that she'd stopped walking and turned to look at him. She just stared, as though she was analyzing him. Hell, she probably _was_ analyzing him. _Well she can think whatever the hell she wants,_ he thought in annoyance. _I don't need to talk to my father and I don't care what Olivia Dunham thinks about me. Period._ Even in his head, sarcasm dripped off of the word _father_. He tried to figure out what she was making of his decision to turn around, but was frustrated to see that her face revealed absolutely nothing. _Damn, she's good,_ he thought.

Then, as the officer turned and escorted Peter back out of the secured area, Olivia and the orderly continued on in the opposite direction to find Walter. Maybe she'd have time to get to the bottom of whatever had just happened with Peter… but that was for later.

It didn't take Walter Bishop long to deduce that his son was on the premises. He may have been in a mental institution for nearly the past two decades and he may not have been completely sane, but to Olivia's dismay, he was sharp enough to realize that she wouldn't have been able to get in to see him by herself, which meant that he could hold out on this intense woman from the FBI until he saw his son. Or at least, he _hoped_ that that tactic would work. It was worth a shot, anyway.

She strode back through the labyrinth of hallways to where Peter was waiting, trying very hard to temper her annoyance. After all, her frustration wasn't with him, at least at that moment, and now she had to ask for his assistance. _Again._ To make matters worse, she had a feeling she knew how the conversation was going to go, and it wasn't going to be pretty.

Deciding not to beat around the bush, she didn't even attempt to soften the blow. "He asked for you," she told Peter simply, approaching him in the hallway where he stood with his arms crossed. His face quickly darkened.

 _This just gets better and better, doesn't it?_ he thought angrily. _Did she not hear me say that Walter was the_ _ **last**_ _person I wanted to talk to?_

"Thanks, sweetheart," he replied, sarcasm dripping from the words. He hoped that calling her _sweetheart_ would frustrate her even half as much as what she was asking him to do – to go and speak to his father, despite his refusal only a few moments ago – had just frustrated him. He regarded her with hostility that he didn't even attempt to conceal, arms still crossed. There was literally _nothing_ in the world that he wanted less than to talk to Walter – besides, once again, death. He'd gone seventeen years without seeing or speaking to him, and he would have happily gone another seventeen years without any contact.

"I _really_ appreciate that." He was out of patience with this woman. Just absolutely done.

 _What the hell is his problem?_ she wondered to herself. _He came all the way here, for God's sake. Is it_ _ **really**_ _that big a deal to just talk to him?_

She returned his glare without hesitation, unable to help but feel like he was acting like a spoiled brat. "Hey, I didn't tell him you were here," she replied angrily, without a hint of apology in her voice. "And call me _sweetheart_ one more time…" She didn't need to finish that sentence for him to hear the threat that was attached to it. "I'd _really_ like that." There was no mistaking the tone of her voice, and he got the feeling that she really did intend to do him bodily harm if he called her _sweetheart_ again. _Not_ that he was afraid of her, of course, but he noted the threat nonetheless.

Once again, he looked at her in what was almost disbelief, and wasn't sure whether or not it showed on his face. He hadn't expected her to be able to match his tone and his hostility so exactly, and without meaning to, his face softened ever so slightly in response, just for a second. He'd expected to make her at least a little bit contrite, but that clearly hadn't worked. He realized that lashing out at her wasn't making him feel any better, either. He was just as angry as he'd been when he'd found out what she was asking of him… and he certainly hadn't expected to get every bit of the venom spit back at him, so really, he was actually _angrier_ now than he'd been before. This woman was really… something else.

And then he thought about it all for a few seconds. The fact that she could match his anger had actually, weirdly, calmed him down slightly. _What the hell?_ he wondered. It was almost as though his emotions had been hijacked. Realizing that he wasn't going to be given a choice in the matter, he took a deep breath and accepted his fate. Of course, she couldn't make him like it, so he continued to glare at her, once again furious that he had no control over the situation.

They gave each other equally hostile looks as Peter walked towards her wordlessly, eyes like daggers. He brushed her shoulder slightly as he continued past her, not quite pushing her out of the way, but showing that he was unwilling to alter his path to step around her or to give her the satisfaction of uttering a word of surrender.

This woman was completely infuriating.

Walter certainly wasn't in a position to make demands… and yet, that was _exactly_ what he was doing."I must see Mr. Scott myself," he stammered. "Which, I am unable to do… under present law. Un-unless… unless signed out by a legal guardian, who must be, once again, a relative."

Peter couldn't believe his ears. What Walter was asking… it was completely and absolutely unacceptable. Obviously she didn't expect him to… There was _**no way**_ …

He turned around to look at Olivia, who was standing a few feet behind him, listening to the exchange. _She_ _ **wouldn't**_ _ask that of him. No, not even this woman who he was beginning to think took such great pleasure in his misery would ask that of him…_

"What are you asking me to— _NO._ Guardian? _No._ Forget it." There was no way in _hell._

Olivia looked past him, speaking directly to Walter. "He'll do it."

"No, I will _not._ " But she didn't seem to be listening to him whatsoever. _God, is she ever_ _ **not**_ _infuriating?_ He wanted to scream.

She looked at him, daring him to argue with her. "One phone call. That's all it takes. You want me to make it? Cause I've got my phone in my pocket." The look on his face immediately went from anger to a stunned realization of, once again, the fact that he simply _did not have a choice_ but to accept her terms. He had to take deep breaths in order to stop his frustration from boiling over. But she wasn't finished.

"Now, it's out of my pocket." She held it in her hand as he stared at her in disbelief. He tried to think of a way out of this, but had no more luck than the other times she'd made the same threat. He closed the gap between them, stepping into her personal space so that he barely had to speak above a whisper to make his point. After all, Walter was watching their disagreement intently, appearing fascinated. It was the most interesting thing he'd seen in a _very_ long time, after all.

"You wanted my father," he said softly, looking her directly in the eyes. It was the closest he had been to her, and he hoped that his proximity was emphasizing his point. "Now you've _got_ my father. Which falls into the category of _be careful what you wish for_ …" He began stepping back to walk past her. Just before he broke eye contact with her, he added the one word that she'd warned him not to use, and he did it completely on purpose. It was the only thing that he _could_ say that he knew would piss her off, which was what he wanted to do more than anything else just then, and he couldn't help it. "… _sweetheart."_ Satisfied to see the flare of anger in her eyes, he walked past her, out of the room.

Olivia turned slightly, watching him walk away in her peripheral vision, then turned back to Walter. It hadn't exactly gone the way she'd hoped, but in the end, she'd gotten what she'd wanted – as she'd known that she would. With that, she left Walter to get ready for his release.

Olivia and Peter waited in the reception area for Walter to be ready to leave, Peter filling out a few forms for the front desk. As soon as he completed the paperwork, he stood and began packing back and forth. He was unwilling to even meet her eyes, despite several of her attempts to come to some kind of silent understanding. She didn't actually _want_ this hostility that had developed between them. Though she wasn't going to be working with Peter, exactly, she needed Walter, which meant that Peter wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. While she could understand his anger with her – she _had_ steamrolled him repeatedly in the past two days – she hoped that at some point he would come around and see that he was doing the right thing… even if he wasn't doing it voluntarily.

In the meantime, however, it appeared that he wasn't going to speak to her. _He's_ _ **really**_ _not used to not being in control_ , she thought. It was another thing they had in common, apparently. It wasn't until Walter finally emerged through the door into the reception area after being processed out that Peter even glanced at Olivia. She saw the daggers in his eyes again and decided that when he found out that she'd never had a file on him in the first place, it was definitely _not_ going to be pretty.

She would just try to keep that to herself for as long as possible.


	4. Uncertain

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: "Is my idea enough to write a whole chapter?" I asked myself… I guess the answer was yes (because it's at least twice as long as I'd hoped it would be). :) I hope you enjoy it._

The car ride from St. Claire's back into Boston was… well, _uncomfortable_ would be putting it nicely. The high point was when Walter gasped, then announced matter-of-factly that he had "pissed himself." It pretty much went downhill from there. The fact that it _could_ go downhill from there was indicative of the atmosphere in the car.

Olivia attempted to make conversation with Walter, who, having only just walked out of a mental hospital, against the advice of the staff there, was acting exactly as one might have expected him to behave – as if he were a few donuts short of a dozen, so to speak. She struggled to be as polite to him as she possibly could – after all, she desperately needed his help. Besides, as frustrating as she might find him, she was a professional, a federal agent. She had always prided herself on her ability to deal calmly with people who others found difficult. Walter Bishop, however, was severely testing her patience.

She reminded herself repeatedly that it couldn't be easy for him. Not only had he spent years in St. Claire's, but now he was suddenly re-entering the real world again after so many years, and being asked by a complete stranger to remember things that he had worked on many years ago.

And then, of course, there was Peter. If Walter was hard to deal with, then Peter was flat out impossible. She would have thought that of the two Bishops, the one who had spent nearly two decades in a mental hospital would have been the _more_ difficult one, but this was not the case. At least Walter, as completely incoherent as he was, seemed genuinely willing to help her, if he was indeed _able_ to do so.

Peter, on the other hand, may have started out only annoyed by her, but she was pretty sure that his feelings had blossomed into something close to hatred right around the time she'd made him confront his estranged father. That is, if he hadn't _already_ hated her for dragging him back from Iraq, of course. If the looks he'd been giving her for the past hour or two were anything to go by, he couldn't hate her much _more_ than he already did. It certainly hadn't helped matters when she'd forced him to sign Walter out of St. Claire's to act as his guardian indefinitely, lest she make that phone call she'd been threatening him with.

 _Peter's anger really shouldn't be a surprise,_ she reminded herself. _Let's recap how you've treated him since you two met. You dragged him halfway around the world by threatening to tell his very unsavory and most likely very dangerous clients his whereabouts and to divulge all kinds of sensitive information that would compromise his safety and his livelihood, information that you don't even_ _ **have**_ _about him… did you really expect him to just go along with it happily?_

No, she could understand why he kept glaring at her. She could even almost sympathize with Peter in his feelings for her. She couldn't begrudge him his anger at all. At the end of the day, she'd brought it upon herself, albeit for a good reason. She'd have done it again, too, even knowing how angry he would end up. Despite everything, however, she couldn't help but feel like it would have been nice if he could have found a way to act like an _adult_ and just be civil. But maybe that was just asking too much.

Of course, how she felt about any of what she'd had to do didn't change anything – she'd had no choice. She couldn't just let John die.

 _John._ Her racing thoughts came to a screeching halt. _He doesn't have much time left._

She felt her breath catch in her throat for just a second as she was filled with anguish, the reality of the situation rushing back to her, crashing down on her shoulders again. She – well, Walter Bishop, more precisely – might be the only one who could save the man who only days before had told her that he loved her. Loved _her_ , Olivia Dunham. That fact alone was almost too much to wrap her head around. She tried to suppress a shiver that went down her spine at the thought that she might be too late, or that they would get there in time, but that Walter Bishop might not have the slightest idea what he was talking about. Or that he _would_ know what he was doing, but that something would go wrong regardless… that despite everything, they would still fail. That John would still die.

There were simply too many possibilities, too many things that could go wrong. But _no_ , it couldn't go wrong. It just _couldn't_. This plan _had_ to work. Her knuckles tightened around the steering wheel as she repeated it to herself like a mantra. _It has to work. It has to work._

Peter sat in the passenger seat beside Olivia, rolling his eyes at his father's absurdity and just generally hating both of them, and his life in general, at that particular moment. _Maybe I should have sat in the back, as far away from her as possible_ , he mused, but gave up on the thought. It wouldn't have been anywhere near far _enough_ away, so why bother? He wondered exactly how much more of this he could take – of Olivia in general, and of his father's inane, nonsensical babble – before he simply ran out of patience and lost it on one or both of them. It had been a long, long time since he could remember feeling this out of control – not just of his life, but of his emotions – and he didn't like it one bit. He had built his life carefully to avoid precisely this kind of situation, where someone else held the power over him.

He glanced at Olivia ever so slightly out of the corner of his eye. As she conversed with Walter, he pretended as much as humanly possible that he wasn't paying attention. Even more than just pretending not to listen, he actively willed himself not to hear them, but to no avail. What he would not have given for ear plugs at that moment.

While Olivia wasn't a mind reader, it didn't take powers of telepathy to figure out Peter's thoughts as they drove. She could only assume from the hostility level of his demeanor that at this point he'd given up trying to conceal his feelings about the situation. She was sure that this wasn't the first time that someone had been _this_ angry with her, and she reminded herself that in her line of work, there were bound to have been people who felt much stronger hatred towards her, simply because she was doing her job, at one point or another… still, most of the time if someone was that angry with her, she was taking them into custody and turning them over to the Bureau for processing shortly thereafter.

In this case, she was not nearly so lucky. She would be dealing with Peter for an undetermined length of time in her immediate future, which she wasn't feeling all that great about. Yes, she was _able_ to deal with him, but really, at the end of the day, she was quickly getting tired of the angry looks and his childish behavior, simple as that.

 _He'll be much angrier when he finds out that you've been lying to him about something so big, you know_ , she reminded herself. That was enough to make her push the topic of her lies to Peter out of her mind completely for the time being. She just hoped that by the time _that_ came out – if indeed it had to – that either he'd already be gone, or that she'd be done needing Walter's help and he'd be free to leave. It had been a long time since she'd seen anyone who wasn't actually behind bars but who looked so much like a caged animal, and she got the feeling that as soon as Peter was released from his responsibility as Walter's legal guardian, that he would jump at the chance to leave and they'd never see him again.

Peter had succeeded in tuning out their conversation for what at least felt like all of ten seconds when, because apparently things weren't bad enough, _he_ was sucked into the conversation as well, to his annoyance. Whatever they'd been talking about before, he snapped back to reality when he heard his name, turning his head quickly towards Olivia. The same angry glare was still firmly in place on his face when he looked at her.

"Peter, the Bureau is going to—"

Olivia glanced away from the road and towards Peter for a second. His expression hadn't changed since the last time she'd looked at him, his face still reflecting open hostility. If anything, he was even more annoyed with her for talking to him at all. He wished that she would just leave him alone. After everything she'd forced on him in the past two days, you wouldn't think that would be too much to ask.

Their eyes met and, she unexpectedly stopped talking mid-sentence. Without warning, for just a fraction of a second he saw an expression that wasn't that blank, unreadable "Special Agent Dunham" face that he'd seen almost exclusively up until that moment – with the possible exception of a few seconds on the plane back from Iraq. But now, in the car, he could've sworn that he saw something else in her eyes, albeit not for long enough to actually identify it. It was something that told him that she _had_ been affected by the withering look that had been on his face for the past few hours, and the angry vibe that he had been giving off ever since she'd made him talk to his father. She almost looked… what _was_ that look, anyway? He could usually read people easily, so the fact that he couldn't quite identify what he saw on her face puzzled him.

She'd been concentrating so hard on having a conversation that made any sense whatsoever with Walter, she'd forgotten for just a second about the hostility level being directed at her from her other passenger. Somehow she'd forgotten that she needed her mental defenses up in order to talk to Peter.

In general, Olivia was not normally one to let people get to her. They didn't often get the upper hand on her physically, thanks to her FBI training, nor did they get to her mentally – at least, she didn't let it show if they did. She'd never been one to let people in, and that made it easier not to be taken advantage of. Keeping her feelings at bay, even from herself, had become a defense mechanism by this point in her life. She was actually an exceptionally sensitive, empathetic person underneath her tough exterior, but it wasn't a side that she showed people. Not intentionally, anyway.

Whatever it was, the look her had seen on her face was gone almost as fast as it had come and the unreadable mask had gone back up. She hadsuddenly stopped talking in the middle of her sentence, and he took that as a sign that he _had_ had the desired effect on her. That is, that he was making her feel… what? Guilt? Remorse? S _omething_ for everything she'd done to him since they'd met. He couldn't help but feel just the tiniest bit vindicated by that look he'd seen, however fleetingly.

Despite whatever may have crossed her mind when she had first glanced back at him, it wasn't long, however – just a matter of seconds – before Olivia had recovered and was able to finish her thought.

"The Bureau is going to put you and Walter up in a hotel room for tonight, then we'll see how things look tomorrow. I know how badly you want to…"

She trailed off, unsure of how much she should say and only just realizing that Walter was listening intently to every word. She'd been about to say that she knew how badly he wanted to _leave_ , _to get back to Iraq_ , but then she'd thought that that might elicit more questions, or even panic, from Walter that Peter didn't necessarily want to answer or deal with. Even worse, if she made Walter panic, he might not be able to complete the task she'd brought him here to attempt. No, she needed him focused. Besides, she knew that she'd been enough of a pain in Peter's ass in the past few days, so she decided that she could at least not cause him any extra, unnecessary grief from Walter. He was angry enough with her without her making it worse where it could be avoided.

"So, anyway, we'll just see how it goes in the next few days."

Peter nodded curtly to show that he understood, and so that she didn't feel like she had to say any more, but he didn't give any other reply. He had a bad feeling that Walter wasn't going to take kindly to the idea of going back to St. Claire's – not that he could blame him, of course. At the same time, Peter had no intention of taking on babysitting a mental patient as a long term job, even if that mental patient _was_ his father. No, _especially_ because the mental patient was his father. But that whole mess – getting him to go back _into_ St. Claire's, which would be completely against his will – that didn't need to be figured out just then, so he pushed it from his mind. The present was more than enough to deal with at the moment.

His head was starting to hurt from the stress of everything that was going on around him, and it was worse because he had absolutely no say in any of it. Apparently the only thing he had any control of whatsoever was glaring menacingly at the FBI agent who'd brought him to this point, and acting as unpleasantly as he could around her. Of course, when he thought about it that way, it sounded pretty ridiculous. How old was he again? Ten?

 _And what, exactly, does my behavior say about_ _ **me**_ _?_ he asked himself. _Dealing with the situation that way is not exactly something to be proud of, after all._

 _What, and the rest of what you do on a daily basis_ _ **is**_ _something to be proud of?_ a sarcastic voice in his head replied.

He stared out the window, resisting the sudden urge to punch the glass, trying with all his might to calm down. It was only then that he realized that his fists were clenched in his lap.

 _Jesus,_ he growled to himself in his head, _get ahold of yourself._

The anger had been rolling off of Peter in waves for a while now, and he seemed to be getting increasingly tense the longer they drove. Olivia was relieved to know that they would soon be nearing the hospital where John had been admitted, because she wasn't sure how much more of Peter Bishop's brooding she could take. As if on cue, as she glanced at him she saw him staring straight ahead, the intense scowl on his face seeming to transform into something else before her eyes. She glanced back at the road, checking all of her mirrors carefully, then once again hazarded a quick look at Peter.

He forced himself to unclench his hands and focus on something, _anything_ , that would distract him from his anger. For some reason, the first thing that popped into his head was that look he'd just seen on Olivia's face, when she'd actually looked… _human_. Why had he been so delighted that he'd gotten to her enough to get that one second's look of weakness from her?

 _What the hell is wrong with me?_ he wondered suddenly. _Is that the kind of person I am?_ He knew that he was many things, and a lot of them would be considered dishonest, but did he actually wantpersonal revenge on her that badly? What was his anger doing to his judgement, anyway?

The thought of his behavior that day was making him feel more and more uneasy. This was unfamiliar territory since, once again, he was used to being in complete control of his emotions. He wondered if maybe he would be less angry with her if she wasn't being so smug about everything, acting like what she'd forced him to do wasn't a big deal…

 _She's not "acting like it's not a big deal,"_ a voice in his head suddenly piped up. _Her behavior is right in line with what has happened. Let's review the facts. She needed you for something that was important to her and she had no other option. You refused to do it, and she had leverage over you, so she used it. It was the only way to achieve her goal – which, by the way, was to_ _ **save the life of someone she cares about**_ _. She's not just trying to make money or screw someone over, which puts her ahead of every single one of the times_ _ **you've**_ _ever coerced anyone into doing anything, which is more times that you want to admit. So she used the advantage she had – so what? You would have done the same damn thing, and you know it, but for far less noble reasons. So don't act like you're the victim here, because maybe it's just your turn. After all, how many times have you done something like this to other people, and not for any good reason, but just because you_ _ **could**_ _?_

Olivia was watching Peter in her peripheral vision, trying to figure out what was going on with her surly passenger. Sensing a change, her eyes darted in his direction again. As they did, the expression on his face as he stared at the road ahead changed slightly, becoming slightly less hostile, right before her eyes. Whatever it was that was on his mind, at that moment it appeared that he was dwelling on something other than just pure anger at her. That was progress, at least.

She had a pretty reliable sense about people's emotions. Using body language, facial cues, and just… intuition, reading people was something she had always been good at. For a second she considered trying one more time to make conversation with him, but then decided against it. He may indeed have finally been calming down, but she'd had enough of Peter Bishop's sarcasm and acidic tone for the time being, so she decided not to risk it. He could talk when he was good and ready. And hopefully, by that time, he would be more polite.

His sudden flood of thoughts jarred him out of his self-indulgent reverie, and for a second he stared straight ahead, shocked, almost feeling like the admonishment had come from someone else, and not from inside his own head. Looking down at his now unclenched hands, he suddenly felt just a little bit guilty – just a _little_ – about what a hard time he'd given Olivia over the past few hours. He turned his head only slightly toward her, glancing in her direction, feeling anger continue to drain out of him. The release of this anger was leaving him with a whole new set of emotions in its place.

Now that he was calming down, Peter was slowly beginning to regret his behavior towards Olivia, especially the way he'd acted since they'd arrived at St. Claire's. Yes, he maintained that he had the right to be angry with her for putting him in this position, but he suddenly had the feeling that his behavior resembled that of a spoiled child. It was just so rare that anyone could get to him like this, and it taken him completely by surprise. He took pride in his ability to be calm and rational in most situations, and in the fact that he knew how to handle people. Handing people was about 90% of his job, after all… and yet today he had been completely out of control of both his emotions and his actions. It was embarrassing.

He noticed her glancing at him once, then again a few seconds later, and for an instant he thought that she was going to say something. But then just as suddenly as the look crossed her face, it was gone again, as if she seemed to think better of it. He couldn't really blame her, he supposed, since he'd been working so hard to be an asshole to her.

 _Really_ , he thought, _I should be the one to say something. Almost anything that isn't actively hostile would be an improvement at this point…_ But he couldn't think of anything to say. Again, this was completely unlike him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been rendered speechless.

Turning around to glance at Walter in the back seat between them, he saw that the older man had fallen asleep, leaned back against the seat with his head dropped to his left shoulder and his mouth partly open. He couldn't help but chuckle at Walter, despite the tension that he still felt. This explained the quiet that had descended on the car for the last little while, which had allowed both him and Olivia to brood in silence.

This whole thing – everything that had happened to him since Olivia had approached him at the hotel in Baghdad – was absolutely absurd. He realized that it actually felt good to laugh even just a little bit, even if it felt awkward – which it did.

After a few more minutes of silence, the tension in the air finally beginning to dissipate slightly, Peter decided to attempt to offer some sort of truce. He'd actually grown tired of his own angry behavior, and he could only imagine how Olivia felt about the way he'd been acting – even if he did still feel, that his anger was justified. Clearing his throat slightly, he turned to her and asked simply, "Do you _really_ , honestly, think that Walter knows _anything_ that can help you save your friend?"

It had been quiet in the car for so long, she was surprised to hear him speak at all. After all, he hadn't spoken a word to her since he'd called her "sweetheart" for the second time, with the sarcasm and anger dripping thick off of the word. It had been blatantly obvious that he'd said it simply to make her angry, which of course he had. It was the one thing she'd told him _not_ to call her. That had been a few hours ago now, and other than speaking to Walter, or a few sarcastic and angry comments out loud that were more to himself than anyone else, he hadn't spoken at all. So this question, which he asked while looking at her _without_ the furious glare, in a voice that was calm and rational, came as a pleasant surprise. It was almost like he'd suddenly become a different person. A much easier one to deal with.

She glanced at him, and was surprised to see that there was no hostility left in his expression, just curiosity. _Yes, I can deal with_ _ **this**_ _version of Peter Bishop_ , she thought as she allowed herself to relax slightly. Sighing heavily, she paused to consider his question as she stared at the road ahead, pursing her lips. A full minute went by, and then two, and she still hadn't answered.

 _Do I really believe that Walter can do anything to help John?_

It was the question that she had been avoiding in her own mind all this time. Instead, all she had focused on was that Walter Bishop was her only lead… because he was. That had made it easier to devote all of her energy and determination to doing absolutely _anything_ to secure Walter Bishop and get him to John before it was too late. _Anything_ … including tricking his conman son into flying halfway around the world, threatening to expose his more than likely illegal activities. Yes, she'd outdone herself this time. She'd gone to extremes ever for _her_.

The question of how likely it was that Walter could actually help John… she hadn't wanted to consider that. She hated to admit that, when she considered the situation objectively, the chances weren't nearly as good as she wanted them to be. It all just remained to be seen. She hated to think about the possibility that all of this had been in vain, but it certainly existed. Considering the unlikelihood of what had happened to John, she realized that it was more than just _possible_ that it had all been in vain.

When she glanced back at Peter after more than two minutes, realizing that she hadn't answered him, she noticed that he was still looking at her intently, again without hostility, just waiting for her answer. Their eyes met once again for a second, and instead of anger or frustration, she saw uncertainty reflected back at her, as if he was asking her the same question again, but this time without using words. Though she couldn't see her own expression, the look on his face matched the way she felt. It matched her feelings so strongly, in fact, that she had to look away almost immediately for fear that the dam currently holding back her emotions wouldn't be able to hold. After all, she realized suddenly, her walls weren't up just then.

 _How had that happened? And when?_ she wondered, slightly alarmed.

"I don't know," she finally replied, simply, almost in a whisper, giving a sad, weak smile and glancing back at Peter again for only a second before looking away again. At that moment she almost looked defeated, unlike the indestructible persona she'd been projecting since he'd met her. Once again, he was almost relieved to see her look like she was actually human, though the obvious pain that was suddenly on her face now made him regret his question.

The expression on his face softened by a few more degrees in response. As annoyed as he had been with her – no, annoyed wasn't nearly a strong enough word – at that moment he couldn't help but wish that he could do something to help. After all, she wasn't actually asking him to _do_ anything, only for him to be there so that his _father_ could help her. But surely, there was something he could actually _do._ He knew that he was smarter than the average person, after all. He'd never really been a "helping people" person, but for some reason, he had a strong urge to do just that for her. What was happening to him, anyway?

He returned her weak smile with a slight one of his own, nodding sympathetically. There was nothing else to say, really. She didn't look at him directly, but her eyes flicked in his direction for a second, and she could see him in her peripheral vision. Looking back at the road ahead yet again, she bit her lip in an attempt to hold in a rush of emotions that were suddenly, and alarmingly, close to the surface.

He watched her as her expression changed once more, as the walls went up again, and her face became just as unreadable as before.

"I guess we'll find out," she added tiredly, trying with all of her might to force optimism into her voice that she only wished that she felt, keeping her eyes on the road in front of her.

Peter just watched her, nodding slowly and then finally turning back to look out the window once more. His thoughts wandered as he wondered about many things, not least of all how he had ended up here, back in Boston, of all places, the last place he would have expected to be, with this truly enigmatic FBI agent and the man that he had hoped never to see again. He _always_ had a plan, and usually at least one back-up plan as well, and he suddenly realized that for the first time in his adult life, he had absolutely no idea what the future held, or even what he _wanted_ it to hold.


	5. Amused

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: I hope you enjoyed ch4, my first full "deleted scene" of the story. I felt like there needed to be more of a transition from Peter being completely furious with Olivia at St. Claire's, to eventually_ _ **not**_ _freaking out when he find out that she didn't actually have a file on him back in Iraq, after all (Although, of course, he's not always nice to her in the interim). And of course, I love the idea that these two could connect even back when they didn't really seem to like each other very much. But enough of all this talk about the last chapter. On with the story!_

Walter Bishop's old lab in the basement of the Kresge building at Harvard was cavernous and dusty. It looked as though time had stood still there since Walter had been locked up in St. Claire's. In some ways, time _had_ stood still there. It was clear that no one had used it since then, that white sheets had simply been draped over the equipment before someone had locked the door and walked away. It didn't appear that anyone had entered the room since. The only thing that _had_ changed was the layers of dust that had accumulated on everything over the years, making it difficult to believe that the sheets had _ever_ been white to start with.

Olivia asked Walter if he needed anything besides the standard forensics work package that she'd already ordered, and Walter immediately began listing off additional items that would need to be procured. Olivia signaled for Astrid to make a list as Peter looked in the other direction across the room, trying to ignore what was going on around him. He knew that it wouldn't make any of it go away, but it almost made it all bearable.

If he let himself think about it, it could annoy him to no end that everyone seemed to take a man who was so obviously out of his mind so very seriously. Was he, Peter, the _only_ one who could see Walter for what he was? There was no way around it, Walter was insane - a raving lunatic - and yet the FBI had decided that he was valuable to them. This was great for Walter, and even fine for the FBI, if they wanted to waste their resources. The only one who was getting screwed in this arrangement was him, and every time Peter thought about it, he couldn't help but get angrier and angrier. So as his father's shopping list grew, it became harder and harder to smile and nod at the insanity of what was going on around him.

The final item on Walter's list was the most interesting – or insane, depending on your perspective. He'd called the item by its scientific name, Bos Taurus, which had left both Astrid and Olivia momentarily baffled. _A what?_

"A _cow_ ," Peter had called in annoyance from across the room. "He wants a cow." He smiled, but it was a sarcastic smile that said _Surely, you can all see now how ridiculous this all is, can't you?_

 _A cow?_ Olivia was sure she'd heard him wrong… except that she hadn't. She strolled up to where Peter was removing the sheet that laid atop some large object or another and listened to Walter go on about the specifications of the cow he wanted. Still, she had trouble understanding why in the world Walter would want a _cow_ in his lab. She knew that he was eccentric, but… _a cow?_

"Is he joking?" she asked Peter quietly.

"Genetically, humans and cows are separated by only a couple lines of DNA," Peter told her with only a hint of superiority as he rolled the sheet up into a ball. "So it's an ethical test subject."

 _Of course he knew that off the top of his head,_ she thought, suddenly irrationally annoyed with Peter Bishop. No one should know so much and be so damn smug about it. It was just obnoxious. While she'd managed to remain professional with him this long, dealing with his sarcasm was getting to her. Maybe his constant sarcasm was wearing off on her, but before she could think twice about it, the words were out of her mouth. "Where'd you learn that? MIT?" she asked him tauntingly.

"No, actually," he replied without a split second's hesitation, "I picked that up reading _books_. You should try it sometime. It's fun."

He walked slowly towards her, around the table that he'd just uncovered, enjoying the look of supreme annoyance on her face as he got closer. _Why would she think that I wouldn't have a comeback to that?_ he wondered in amusement.He noted that it was the first time she'd attempted a witty comeback to his sarcasm, but that she seemed to be at a loss to think of another one.

Despite ( _or was it_ _ **because of**_ _?_ he wondered) what he was pretty sure had been her attempt at scathing sarcasm, he couldn't hide the hint of a smile that rested on his lips. He came to a stop in front of her, noting that he was just slightly closer to her than she was comfortable with, before he pushed the sheet that he'd removed from the table towards her gently. He simply could not help but enjoy that look of annoyance on her face.

 _Why the hell is he smiling at me?_ she wondered, suppressing the sudden urge to punch him in the face. Okay, no, she didn't _really_ want to punch him, she was just so damn irritated with him… she didn't know _what_ she wanted to do, only that she hated that he was smiling at her like that, like she'd said something adorable.

 _I said something obnoxious to him, which I shouldn't have said. Totally unprofessional. He said something nasty back to me. So why does he look like he's_ _ **enjoying**_ _this?_ It didn't make any sense. _Why would he be enjoying this?_ she wondered, her annoyance level growing by the second. _Really, what's_ _ **wrong**_ _with him?_

The smile remained on his face as she glared at him, trying to make sense of something that was clearly not going to make sense. He wasn't quite sure why the glare that Olivia had fixed on him was making him smile, but the longer she glared at him, the harder he had to fight it. As it was, he knew that he wasn't keeping it hidden completely.

For a second he thought that she wanted to say something else, probably another biting remark. Judging from the look on her face, however, he guessed that either she couldn't think of anything else to say or she'd decided against it – maybe both. After all, she had been fighting hard to remain professional up to now. This was confirmed when instead of saying anything else to him, she turned toward Astrid, who was standing beside Walter not far away, and said simply, "Get him the cow."

Olivia's attention was now focused on Walter, and the tiny smile that had been on Peter's face vanished. He suddenly remembered how annoyed he'd been with Walter before that exchange with Olivia. Her words to Astrid brought it all back, however. _Just like that? Get him the cow?_ He wasn't sure why, but he found his frustration level right back up where it had been a few minutes before. He couldn't believe she was actually going to get him a _cow_.

All of a sudden feeling like he was standing much too close to her, he took a few steps away from Olivia. What he really wanted was to get away from all of them. All of… _this_. Back to his own life, where things made sense.

Walter was obviously pleased, mumbling, "Fantastic!" as he began walking excitedly towards the door. Astrid trailed behind him, wondering if he might continue to list off items he needed as he walked into the next room, and not wanting to miss anything. As he charged up the short stairway and away from the main part of the lab, he exclaimed, "The only thing better than a cow is a human. Unless you need milk. Then you really need a cow."

Olivia just shook her head at Walter. While it was a true statement, that if you needed milk, you needed a cow, it seemed as though the things he said just continued to get more and more bizarre every time he opened his mouth. If only she knew then that she'd hadn't heard _anything_ in the way of bizarre from him. Not yet.

Peter watched the man he had been forced to sign out of the mental hospital mumble to himself and couldn't help but think, yet again, what a ridiculous idea this whole thing was. What the hell was he doing here? There was no way that Walter would actually be able to succeed at what Olivia wanted him to do! No possible way. The man could barely put together coherent thoughts, much less save the life of a man suffering from exposure to some unknown synthetic compound.

He knew that Olivia didn't want to admit it, but this was nothing but a waste of all of their time, energy and FBI resources… So why was _he_ the only one who could _see_ that? How had this ridiculous plan even gotten as far as it had? What was _wrong_ with these people?

As he stood and watched Walter and Astrid leave the room, Peter was too disgusted with the entire scene to even speak. Only when the door closed behind them did the spell that seemed to be holding him captive in his thoughts seem to be broken, and he just shook his head. What else could he do, after all, when faced with the absurdity of it all? He was trapped here.

For a few seconds after Walter and Astrid disappeared into another part of the lab, Olivia continued to stare at the spot that Walter had just vacated, still in disbelief over the events of the past few days. Coming back to reality, she glanced at Peter, now the only other person in the room, and saw that his expression had changed completely. The playful hint of a smile had been replaced by something that looked more like anger. While she felt like she could understand Peter's frustration in this situation, at least in theory, at the same time she had trouble feeling badly for him. Despite their extremely civil conversation in the car, his overall attitude towards her was far from friendly.

She quickly glanced away, surveying the dusty, expansive lab once again. Moving toward another large object that was still covered in a white sheet, she began carefully tugging at one corner, trying not to make too much dust fly in her face at once. Peter remained frozen for a few more seconds, appearing lost in thought, before he turned and watched her, slowly walking in her direction.

"You _know_ how ridiculous this all is, right?" he asked, coming to a stop a few feet away from her and crossing his arms tightly. He wasn't glaring at her, exactly, but he certainly wasn't smiling at her as he had been a minute ago.

She tilted her head slightly, looking up at him with interest, wondering fleetingly if the speed with which his mood was changing might be giving him whiplash. The quick shifts were confusing her enough, and she imagined that it was worse inside his head. With a shrug she nodded slightly, pursing her lips. "What I know is that the situation is very… unconventional. I also know that your-"

She stopped when she saw him cringe slightly, as she almost uttered the words _your father_ , so she changed course mid-sentence. "Uh… _Walter_ is the only lead I have, the only person I've been able to find who might be able to help my partner. And if I had another, more conventional lead, yes, I would pursue that, as well. But I don't." Stopping to watch him digest this information for a minute, she waited to see if there would be even a slight change in his expression.

He watched her, the frown stubbornly remaining on his face, and saw her expression change. When she admitted that she had no other leads, for just a second she looked… defeated. The look was gone in an instant, however, replaced by determination.

"I _know_ this seems insane to you. No, it _is_ insane. I _know_ that." She paused again, her eyes sweeping around the lab quickly before returning to rest on him. "But do you have a better idea?"

"Trust me," he replied emphatically, then paused. For a second he'd considering calling her _sweetheart_ again, but then thought better of it. Bantering with her was fun for him, he'd realized, but did he _really_ want to piss her off on purpose? She wasn't there solely for his amusement, he reminded himself, no matter how amusing he might find her when she was angry. He wasn't _that guy_ , not really… or he didn't _want_ to be, anyway. "If I could think of any way for me to get out of here, I'd have mentioned it already."

She nodded, the tension in her face increasing slightly. "Right, of course," she said. "So you could get back to your… _business_ in Iraq, right?" It was perfectly clear from her tone what she thought about his _business._

Maybe he was imagining it, but there was something about the way her last statement had come out… There was a hint of something – sarcasm mixed with hostility? – in her voice. His assessments of people were usually right, and yet… Did it bother her that he wanted to leave? Why would it bother her? _Of course_ he wanted to leave! She didn't even seem to like him, so what was the big deal? No, he decided, she was just annoyed with him.

"Yep, pretty much," he nodded evenly, watching as her face became unreadable once again. The mask was back up.

His constant scrutiny was making her somewhat uncomfortable. _Why is he looking at me like that_? she wondered in irritation. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at her so piercingly. It was as though she'd suddenly become the object of a scientific study, and she did _not_ like it.

 _This is ridiculous_ , she thought suddenly, looking away in the direction that Walter and Astrid had gone. "I'm going to go and see where Walter and Astrid ended up... See if they need any help," she told him offhandedly as she turned and walked out of the room without a backward glance.

Peter stood still, watching the direction the three of them had now disappeared in, and hating that he had no control over his life at the moment. And then, because there was nothing else to do besides stand there and stare at an empty room, he walked out of the lab, exited the building and walked out into the cold, brisk day. He needed a walk to clear his head. If he was going to contemplate his loss of control of his life, at least he could do it outside, away from Walter.


	6. Warmth

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

Peter stomped along the slippery sidewalks of the Harvard campus and past its borders, then through the snow-covered streets of the surrounding neighborhoods. This walk had been exactly what he'd needed. Space. Distance. Perspective. Time. It was a relief to be away from the lab, from the three people in the lab – two of whom were on his last nerve – and everything that place and those people represented. A lot of things were bothering him, but there was one thing in particular.

His thoughts drifted back to the day his life had veered so wildly off course – had it really only been a few days ago? – to that day when Olivia Dunham had shown up at his hotel in Baghdad, first asking, then begging and finally, coercing him into coming back to Boston for the sake of a guy he'd never met and had no ties to. He remembered thinking almost immediately that she was going to be a pain in the ass, mainly because she just didn't seem to take "no" for an answer. Of course, while true, calling her a pain in the ass had been an oversimplification of the highest order. She was not _only_ a pain in the ass, but also irritating and stubborn and _far_ too serious. But he also had to grudgingly admit that she was… intriguing.

Perhaps because he was so used to being able to read people so well, or because he was so confident in his ability to manipulate just about anyone, or maybe for both of these reasons, he'd never stopped to consider that someone else might be as good at it as he was. He'd never stopped to consider that _she_ might be just as good at manipulation. But as he now walked briskly through the streets of Boston, the frigid air assaulting his senses, he had begun to wonder if this was exactly what had happened. When he really thought about the events of the past few days, watched them unfold again in his mind, it seemed more and more possible that he was a victim of his own game. Strangely, he couldn't quite figure out if he was annoyed or fascinated.

Of course, what he hadn't known about Olivia Dunham – he'd had no way _to_ know – when they'd met was that, like him, she was exceptionally talented at reading people and, when the situation called for it, at "convincing" them to see her side of things. She didn't have his easy charm, of course, so maybe that was why he hadn't recognized that that was what was happening. No, her methods were somewhat different – her intensity level, for one thing, was _much_ higher – but it was all becoming clearer to him the more he watched her work. She used her intensity to her advantage, and he began to recognize tricks that were so similar to his own that it made him both increasingly suspicious and impressed, finding it more and more likely that she'd used these techniques on him as well.

He thought back to that day in the hotel in Baghdad when she'd appeared, trying to be as objective as possible. He could now identify several different techniques that she'd used on him before finally finding the one that worked. The only question was whether or not she had been bluffing. He stopped in his tracks for a second at the realization, to the displeasure of several pedestrians walking behind him as they nearly collided with him on the icy sidewalk.

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Of course, he didn't know for sure that she'd lied to him. What he did know was that she had appealed to him as a decent human being, and he had refused her pleas without feeling a split second's hesitation or even an ounce of guilt. Granted, what she had been asking of him had been unreasonable, he reminded himself hurriedly, almost defensively. Still, he wondered what it said about him that he'd felt nothing, other than supremely annoyed, at her request that he help her save her friend's life. No, he knew he wasn't a poster boy for good behavior, but even so, he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable thinking back on the exchange. But why? He'd operated this way for years. Since when did he start feeling guilty about it?

So, had she merely tricked him to get what she wanted? Pulled a "Peter Bishop" on _him_? He shook his head, unsure of what he felt more strongly at the possibility: angry or impressed. Of course, no one would go so far as to call Olivia Dunham a con artist, despite the way she may or may not have manipulated him. On the other hand, while he may not have liked the term, a con artist was exactly what he was, and he knew it. He supposed that that was the pro of working for the FBI – manipulation became acceptable. Her motives were certainly much nobler than his, that much he couldn't deny.

When you got down to it, though, they weren't all that different from each other, and this slow realization over the last few hours or so had left Peter somewhat awestruck. It had been a long time since he had underestimated someone so significantly, and he couldn't help but wonder what else he'd missed while he'd been busy feeling superior to her.

Peter had no allusions about being modest. His genius IQ made this impossible. He was smarter than most people, and he knew it. Things just made sense to him without the effort that it seemed to require for others. When it came to people, he was pretty much an expert, or so experience had proven so far. Without even having to try, he knew what to say and how to say it to get what he wanted, and how to get away with it when what he said was bullshit. It was almost like a game, though he knew – at least in theory – that other people were not there solely for his amusement. The long and the short of it was, he wasn't accustomed to people surprising him, and Olivia Dunham had done just that. Because of this, she became fascinating to him.

As he walked back onto campus, past the students gathered in groups along the sidewalks and hurrying on to their own destinations, his thoughts kept going back to that FBI file on him, and the alleged sensitive information that Olivia had threatened to expose if he didn't help her. Now that Walter had set up shop in his old Harvard lab and it appeared that Peter wasn't getting out of there in the next day or so after all, as Olivia had initially promised, his suspicion about her method of getting him to Boston nagged at him more and more impatiently. It all came down to one question in his mind, the one that now pushed itself to the surface of his thoughts and demanded to be acknowledged.

 _Did that file even exist?_

The fact that Olivia had never actually given him any proof that she _had_ a file on him didn't sit well with him. At the time, back in Iraq, he'd been afraid to take the chance, knowing the stakes of calling her bluff and being wrong were more than he was willing to risk. Now, however, thinking back, he realized that just maybe she was every bit as good at her job as he believed himself to be at his. Just maybe, everything she had said had been an act. Or, more likely, _some_ of it had been an act. From what he'd learned about her so far, at least the part about the guy she was trying to save was real. He'd _seen_ the guy with his own eyes, after all, and there was definitely something strange about whatever had happened to him. But the rest of it – whatever she'd claimed that she knew about _him_ – could easily have been a bluff. He just had to get her to admit it.

His toes were beginning to feel numb when he slowly began winding his way back toward the Kresge building. He'd needed to clear his head, and a few hours in the cold air had helped with that. He hadn't planned to be gone so long, but it wasn't exactly as though he was in a hurry to get back, either. Astrid and Olivia were both there with Walter, so surely they'd be alright without him for a little while. After all, his position as glorified babysitter couldn't be _that_ hard to cover, he thought as his annoyance flared up again with the thought of them.

Letting himself back into the lab carefully, balancing two cups of coffee that he'd picked up on a whim at a campus coffee shop that he'd passed on the way back, he saw that Astrid, Walter and Olivia had made significant progress while he'd been out. The lab was actually beginning to look like an working lab, not just a storage room for Walter's ancient collection of equipment. Clearly, Olivia had pulled some strings, because much of what Walter had asked for had already been delivered.

As he walked in, the only noise a squeak of a door whose hinges needed oil, Astrid looked up from where she was working and smiled at him. He nodded at her, suddenly feeling badly for her, that she had to be stuck in the middle of this mess through no fault of her own. He gave her a half smile, noting that Walter was engrossed in his work and didn't even seem to notice him. That was more than okay with Peter. Let the crazy old man stay lost in his thoughts, that way _he_ wouldn't have to hear them.

Shedding his jacket and leaving it on the back of a chair, Peter went in search of Olivia. He found her on a bench off to one side of the lab. He'd ducked into the coffee shop originally because he was freezing after walking for hours, making the idea of coffee very appealing, but had decided to bring some back for her, as well, as a sort of peace offering. It wasn't lost on him that his own mood, and along with it, their conversations, had been swinging quickly back and forth from intensely angry to awkward to almost familiar… and he'd noticed that she looked somewhat confused by the quick shifts. Hell, he was a little confused himself.

It wasn't just that though. If he was being honest with himself, the coffee was also a bribe to get her to tell him honestly what he really wanted to know. _Maybe I should have brought more than coffee_ , he joked to himself at the last second, but continued forward nonetheless. He'd never been one to overthink things, he was more a man of action.

She was hunched forward on the bench over a file that sat in her lap, engrossed in whatever she was reading, and didn't seem to hear him as he approached, or so it seemed to him. In reality, she knew very well that he was there, but was choosing to ignore him. He'd been extremely frustrating earlier, and she just wasn't in the mood to try to figure out which version of him she was dealing with at the moment – the sarcastic one, or the civil one. In the past few hours, since he'd disappeared from the lab without a word to anyone, she'd finally been getting some work done. If he had something to say to her, he could say it.

Coming to a stop beside her, he held out one of the cardboard cups. "Coffee?" he asked her in a tone that he hoped would suggest a cease fire. He knew very well how to be charming when he wanted to be, after all.

Before she even turned to look up at him, the first thing she noticed was that there was no hostility in his voice. _Well, that's a nice change_ , she thought, wondering how long his good mood would last this time, and whether it meant that he wanted something from her or if he had actually just decided to be civil. It seemed more likely that he probably wanted something, based on what she'd learned about him so far. He could certainly be charming when he wanted to be, though she assumed that that was just part of the act. He seemed like the guy who pretty much always got what he wanted. _And that explains the adult versions of temper tantrums he's been having,_ she concluded. _He's like a spoiled kid who's not used to being told "no."_ She smiled inwardly at the thought of Peter Bishop as nothing more than a spoiled child.

Still, she saw no reason to poke the bear at that moment, especially since he'd brought her coffee, which she only now realized that she desperately needed. It had, after all, been a very long few days. Besides, she was tired of being annoyed with his juvenile behavior. If he was going to act like an adult for once, maybe she'd even treat him like one.

She turned to look at him then, slanting her face upward.

"Thanks," she said as she reached for the cup with just the hint of a smile but an otherwise neutral expression.

He walked around her to sit beside her on the bench, wasting no time on small talk. "Tell me," he began even before he was sitting down – closer than she'd expected him to, turned sideways to look directly at her – "what else did that file say? About yours truly? How bad was it?" She had turned towards him, her left elbow draped over the back of the bench, mirroring the position of his right elbow. She had taken a sip of her coffee and then looked away, just for a second, which to him was almost good enough to confirm what he had suspected. He would have felt triumphant about being right, except that the fact that she'd tricked him didn't make him _happy_ , of course. Now he wanted to hear her say it.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss it," she replied seriously with a slight shake of her head.

He chuckled, turning on the thousand watt smile that always worked on women, in his experience. "Why don't you go ahead and liberate yourself?" He touched the stubble on his chin gently with his thumb, unconsciously, as he spoke. "Cause I'm here now, so I kinda feel like I deserve the truth. Don't you?" He looked directly into her eyes, unwavering, and smiled innocently. She could see how he was able to deceive so many people. As much as she hated to admit it, he could definitely be charming when he wanted to be. _When he wants something_ , she reminded herself.

She knew that she didn't owe him anything. After all, he was a criminal, and he took advantage of people – undoubtedly both innocent people as well as criminals – however, _she_ didn't have the luxury that he might or might not have of lacking a conscience. She'd gotten Peter back from Iraq with her despite his refusal to help her, and she had Walter Bishop working on John's case. She knew that she needed Peter to continue to be there in order for Walter to continue to be there, and she somehow felt like he might have a point. Against her better judgement, she wanted to tell him the truth.

Though she couldn't be sure, she liked to think that she was reading him correctly – if perhaps slightly optimistically – and that there was some amount of decency in him below the slick con man exterior, and that _that_ was what she was reacting to. She hoped that she wasn't just succumbing to his charms. But she had long since been an excellent profiler and trusted her gut when it came to reading people. She couldn't explain why, because logically it didn't make sense for her to feel that she could tell him the truth… and yet, in that moment she decided to do it anyway.

As she tried to think of what to say, she paused, putting her left hand up to smooth the hair that was pulled back into a tight ponytail, feeling the mask that revealed nothing fall away from her face and afraid that everything she was thinking would be visible to him. She stared at him for a second, then looked away. _Yes, I tricked you. No, there was no file._ And yet, she couldn't quite bring herself to utter the words.

His eyes were boring into her, she could feel it even though she wasn't looking at him any longer. He was looking at her so intently, and she couldn't be sure when, if ever, anyone had looked at her that hard before. It was obvious to her that he could see the truth, and yet, he continued to stare at her for several more seconds, as if trying to extract as much information from her as he could.

"There was no file," he said. It was a statement that came out of his mouth, not a question. He wasn't smiling at her, and yet, he didn't look angry. He simply looked at her with the same intense expression he had a moment before, minus the smile, waiting for her to confirm what he already knew.

She leaned against her hand, which was still on her hair, feeling discomfort rise in her. She'd been caught. This was a situation she didn't often find herself in. No, this happened even less than "not often." In fact, she couldn't remember the last time anyone had called her bluff at work. She cursed herself silently, knowing that she must be slipping, must be letting him get to her, after all. It wasn't like her to lose control of the situation this way, and it most certainly wasn't like her to lose control of her _emotions_ this way.

"I needed you back here," she replied, a touch of defensiveness in her voice. Maybe she should have said more in the way of explanation, but she couldn't think of anything else to say, even in her own defense. She'd done what she'd had to do, and she'd have done it again if given the chance to go back and make a different choice. Now she braced herself for his reaction, thinking that she could understand exactly why he'd probably be upset with her.

While he'd suspected exactly that – that she had lied to him in order to get him back to Boston, that she hadn't had a file on him after all, that _he could have stayed in Iraq_ – for the past few hours, he was surprised by his reaction to having it all confirmed. He'd expected to be angry, though not surprised, but he found that he was simply… confused.

"So that was… what? You were _bluffing?"_ This kind of thing just didn't happen to him. _Ever._ So how had it happened this time?

"I was desperate," she replied, knowing that it was a pathetic excuse for a defense. She winced slightly, bracing herself once again for either anger or the cutting sarcasm that she'd already come to except from him.

"You know, I'm usually pretty good at reading people, it's sort of what I do." Hs mind was still reeling from the fact that he'd missed something that should have been so obvious to him. _Since when is anyone able to con_ _ **me**_? he wondered. Suddenly his eyes darted around the room, resting on anything but her. _Apparently I'm not as good at it as I thought_.

He'd spent the last sixty seconds or so before that staring at her intensely, so this change didn't go unnoticed. Even so, he didn't seem to be reacting with the hostility she'd expected, at least so far, for which she was grateful. On the contrary, despite what she'd just revealed, he was still being amazingly civil to her. Deciding to attempt to keep things as light as possible, she replied, "Yeah, well I could see you were in trouble. Anyone could see that."

He wasn't really listening to her, however. "So, I could have _stayed_." He said the words out loud, but it was more to himself than to her, then he laughed, but not because it was funny. The laugh seemed to be more to mask his feelings of frustration at the situation. He leaned down slightly and brushed his thumb and loosely balled up fist across his face, closing his eyes for a few seconds behind his hand. "I could have stayed in Iraq," he repeated, once again more to himself than to her, his voice full of disbelief. He stared off over her left shoulder, momentarily unable to look at her.

"You know, a car bomb went off this morning in Kirkuk. You might just owe me a thank you." She couldn't help the hint of a smile on her face just then, even though she knew that she was pushing her luck with that comment. Now that she was on this side of the banter between them, she was enjoying it a lot more. She wondered if this was the way he'd felt earlier, when he'd seemed to be enjoying making her angry. Not that it was the same thing, because she certainly wasn't going out of her way to make him mad, but she definitely had the advantage at the moment.

Still, despite the way he was acting, she had a feeling that he was probably upset with the way she'd tricked him. Hell, _she_ would have been upset if someone had pulled that same trick on her – though chances were that she probably would've been a lot more willing than he had to help in the first place, she reminded herself.

He started to lift his coffee to his lips, then stopped with his hand mid-air and laughed again, once again not because he thought anything was funny, exactly. It was more the laughter that came when the situation was so ridiculous, so impossibly fucked up that there was nothing else to do but laugh. He looked off somewhere towards the floor to the right of her right shoulder, again not wanting to look at her just then. So far he was both impressed with and confused by the fact that he was still speaking to her civilly. He couldn't think of anyone else who could have given him the same news and had him react so well.

"Yeah, well, I owe a lot." He took a drink of his coffee then, suddenly wishing that he was drinking something a lot stronger than coffee.

"Yeah, I figured. Mafia…?" It was almost more of a statement than a question, and she wasn't even sure why she asked. It was more her curiosity getting the best of her than anything else. Going into this she'd already known that he was a criminal, and she had no intention of investigating his "business." That was someone else's department, anyway.

Peter laughed once again, but this time it was genuine. He found it amusing that her first thought was that he owed money to the mafia, though he couldn't explain exactly _why_ he found it funny. Despite the fact that she was an FBI agent, and that he barely knew her, he found that he didn't think twice before answering her truthfully. Suddenly it was as though they were just sitting on the bench, chatting, as strange as _that_ was.

"A guy named _Big Eddie_ ," he corrected her.

"You owe money to a guy nicknamed _Big Eddie_?" she asked, working to control the chuckle that threatened to erupt at any second. Didn't that only happen in movies?

"No," Peter corrected her again, "I owe money to a guy _named_ Big Eddie. He had it legally changed." He watched the smile stretch across her face at that moment, and he felt himself actually _enjoying_ telling her this. He knew that he should be angry with her, this woman that he'd known all of two days or less, and yet… the words kept flowing out of him as if they were old friends. There was something about the smile she was giving him. He liked it, plain and simple.

She watched his expression change as he talked. He was looking at her again, no longer averting his eyes as he had been doing a minute before when he'd appeared to be covering up what may or may not have been anger. Now suddenly it was as though he'd changed into a different person, one who was actually enjoying sitting there and telling her, an FBI agent of all people, about his illicit business deals. _This is so strange_ , she thought.

"And the thing is, I'm not even a gambler. I mean, I never was."

She was an expert at reading people, as he was, and didn't doubt that he was telling her the truth. _Maybe he gave up on trying to play you, now that he realizes he's met his equal,_ she told herself. _Wouldn't that be interesting_?

"It's just…" he stopped then, staring into her eyes intensely and then giving her a small smile before looking down, his voice dropping and becoming slightly raspy at the memory, "It's just a couple of years ago I went a bit crazy."

She watched him in fascination, wondering how many people he actually talked honestly to, but figuring that there couldn't be all that many, based on the way he was acting. The confidence that bordered on arrogance was gone from his face and his voice.

"I thought you were a genius. You must've had a system," she said, finding herself hoping that he'd tell her more. Somehow she just knew there was more to him than just a con man, though she had absolutely nothing to support this knowledge. The intense look on his face _could_ have been just the way he worked when he conned people… and yet, somehow she knew that it wasn't.

"Of course there was a system. The House was cheating," he replied, a grin finding its way to his face as he finished. He lifted his coffee cup again, shrugging his shoulders. "But you try telling them that." He took another drink of the liquid, which was now far more warm than hot, taking his time before looking back at her. For some reason, he found himself feeling self-conscious, half expecting to see judgement in her eyes.

When he finally looked back at her, however, he saw something else entirely, something completely unexpected because it wasn't a look that he saw on the faces of the people he normally dealt with. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him that way. What he saw in her eyes was _warmth_. The smile on her face was small, but it was more genuine than any he had seen in a long time. He found that he couldn't help but stare back at her, and he wondered – probably too late – exactly what the look on his face was saying to her.

After watching each other for longer than either was completely comfortable with, Olivia was the first one to look away, glancing over her shoulder towards the main part of the lab where Walter was working. "I should go and see if Walter has made any progress," she said self-consciously, getting up from the bench and picking up the file that she'd been reading when Peter had wandered over in one hand, and her coffee cup in the other hand.

"Thanks again for the coffee," she added over her shoulder, to which he just nodded slowly, a smiling slightly for a second before it fell away again. As she walked away, back toward the others, she had a feeling that he was watching her, not in a sleazy way, merely with curiosity. Once again, she was right.

 _I could leave right now,_ he thought. _I could book a flight and be back in Baghdad by tomorrow morning._ And yet, he wasn't moving. He sat still, sipping the last drops of his now cold coffee and thinking about how strange it all was. He should have been furious with her. With anyone else, he was fairly sure that he would have been, and his mind would already have been spinning a plan to get even. For some reason, however, he felt only the same bewildered curiosity that he'd felt almost since the first time she'd approached him. He knew he wouldn't stay here, that he would go back to Iraq and finish things up, try to repair the damage that his hasty exit had caused… and then move on to wherever in the world business took him next. But for whatever reason, he suddenly wasn't in a hurry to leave. At least, not right that second.

Part of her had thought that as soon as he found out that she'd tricked him – _if_ he found out – that first of all, he'd have been furious with her, and that secondly, that he'd try to leave immediately, despite the issue of Walter's guardianship, without whom the goal of saving John would be impossible… basically, that he'd leave her up a creek without a paddle because there would be no benefit to him to stay for even a short time.

So she was surprised when, throughout the day as she listened to Walter talk about his various theories, she would look up and find him still there, or when he'd chime into the discussion with some fact that the average person would never in a million years have known. Several of those times she caught him looking at her, and she couldn't make sense of the look on his face. Olivia Dunham, who was an expert at reading people, simply couldn't figure out the meaning of the look on his face, mainly because it was a look that she just wasn't used to seeing. It didn't make sense to her.

She knew that he wouldn't stay indefinitely, that any minute he'd tell her that he was leaving, and she found herself dreading the conversation, though she couldn't figure out _why_ for the life of her. He was a con man, a criminal, who was only here because she'd coerced him into coming and who seemed to care only about himself. It shouldn't surprise her than he wouldn't stick around, and yet…

 _No, it doesn't matter_ , she told herself fiercely. _Of course he's going to leave. Don't even entertain any other possibility. If he stays long enough for Walter to save John, count yourself lucky. John's the one you're really concerned about, anyway. You want to believe Peter's more than a criminal because maybe in some fucked up way, you see some of yourself in him… but let's face it, people see what they want to see in others._

 _But I'm so rarely wrong about people,_ her mind replied insistently. _It would be easier to believe that there isn't more to him, yes… but it wouldn't be true. He may not even know it, but it's there._

And yet, even as she tried to tell herself that there wasn't more to Peter than what her research on him had dug up, she didn't believe it. Not really, not anymore. That he would leave? Of this she was almost certain. That he was simply a con man, and nothing more? She could have believed that at first, but now… No, she couldn't explain _how_ she knew, only that she knew that deep down, he was more than that.


	7. Desperation

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: This was half of what I had thought would be one chapter, but it got a little out of hand. :) But that's a good problem to have, because I already know what I want to do next. Anyway, thank you for reading!_

It was late in the day, and somehow Peter found himself still in Walter's lab. He had thought that he would have been gone by then. Not that he had a formal _plan_ , per se, it was just that what little plan he _did_ have consisted of leaving as soon as humanly possible. After all, the truth had come out – that Olivia had dragged him back here with a _lie_. She had admitted that she had nothing on him to hold over his head, so there was nothing keeping him here.

Except that, to his frustration, he _did_ feel something keeping him here in the House of Crazy. And of course, he knew that if he left, he'd be screwing things up for her. He was Walter's legal guardian, and without him there, the old man would have to go right back to the nuthouse. Not that that was _his_ problem, of course…

He glanced over at Olivia, who was at a desk across the room, reading something intently. She was sitting not far from Walter, who was doing God knows what sort of experiment that may or may not have had anything to do with helping John Scott. Who the hell knew with him?

No, Walter being sent back to St. Claire's wouldn't be _his problem,_ of course, but he was already _here_ , and as frustrating as it was, he didn't need to go out of his way to make things worse for Olivia. She certainly looked worse for wear already. Not that he would know what she normally looked like, having known her all of a few days, but she looked rough even compared to the woman he'd first met at the hotel in Iraq. This whole thing was clearly taking a toll on her. Already, the look of defiance that had been in her eyes when they'd met was quickly being replaced with desperation. It was a major weakness, at least as he saw it, but he had no desire to take advantage of her, the way he might have any other time. Despite how she had tricked him, it just didn't feel right.

He knew he wasn't the greatest guy in the world – he'd never be accused of that, certainly – but he wasn't _that_ guy. At least, he didn't see himself as _that_ guy – the one who would screw someone over emotionally, on purpose, and with absolutely no motive, then just move on with zero remorse. He may have been a con man, but he wasn't a psychopath.

 _Wait, so does that mean that if you could get something out of it, that you_ _ **would**_ _screw her over on purpose?_ a voice in his head asked.

 _Shut up,_ he told that voice, even though he couldn't help but wonder the same thing. He liked to think not, but looking at his track record...

 _Sure, I might use my people skills to my advantage_ (this, of course, was the nice way to describe his shady, underhanded deals) _but it just comes easily to me_. _Everyone has to get by somehow, right?_

He couldn't really say he was proud of the track that his life had taken, but then again, it wasn't his job to save the world or anything. Besides, it wasn't like he was the only one in the world who was out for himself. There were plenty of other people out there doing far worse things than he was. That didn't necessarily mean that he didn't have feelings, per se, just a different set of guiding principles, you could call them. Or maybe he was, or at least had been _that_ guy – the asshole. But somehow, when he looked at Olivia Dunham, he realized that he didn't want to be _that_ guy. Not this time, at least. It was a strange and slightly unsettling feeling.

 _I'll go tomorrow_ , he promised himself. _First thing._ There was a seed of doubt in the back of his mind, but he figured that it didn't matter. It wasn't as though he had somewhere to _be_ , other than not being _here_ , with his mad scientist father and the freak show that he seemed to be running. For today, the least he could do as a decent human being was to make sure that Walter didn't kill this poor young woman who was unfortunate enough to have to depend on him for help. God knew what a list of disappointments _he_ had accumulated thanks to Walter.

But it wasn't tomorrow yet, and Peter was still in the lab. As long as he happened to still be there, he couldn't help but listen to Olivia and Walter's conversation. The man really and truly was insane, and the worst part was that not only was Olivia encouraging it, but she seemed to believe every word of it. Granted, she was facing extremely difficult circumstances, and it was probably more that she _wanted_ to believe it all, but even so, to be that desperate to believe in something that was so obviously ridiculous… he felt bad for her, when it came down to it. He almost felt a responsibility to protect her from herself.

 _That's rich, coming from the con man,_ he reminded himself. _Besides, you don't owe her anything. Care to remember how she has screwed up your life this week?_

And yet, he couldn't help but feel a responsibility to at least look out for her. After all, he knew the depths of Walter's insanity, and had experienced them firsthand enough to know better. Clearly, Olivia's better judgement had been compromised.

"It's not an exact science," Walter was telling her, describing how she could go into John Scott's consciousness and talk to him while he was in a coma.

"It's not _even_ science," Peter called from across the room. He was acutely aware that neither of them was listening to him. From Walter, this didn't surprise him, but he was becoming increasingly concerned about Olivia's ability to make logical decisions in her exhausted, somewhat delirious state. She was _not_ really going to attempt what Walter was describing… was she?

"Have you done this before?" Olivia asked him, dead serious. Peter wanted to shake her, to make her see how insane this whole thing was.

"I have used this technique to extract information from a corpse once. You can do that if they haven't been dead for longer than six hours." The most frightening part of this whole thing, Peter thought, shaking his head, was that Walter could not be more serious about what he was saying.

"Right, cause after six hours, that's when they're _really_ dead." Peter was getting agitated now, unable to believe that as the one sane person in the room, he was being completely ignored. Olivia and Walter continued their intense conversation as if he wasn't there, and as if what they were saying was completely rational. She hung on Walter's every word in a way that only showed just how desperate she really was.

"You could access his memories. Assuming there's no brain damage," Walter told her seriously. "Of course, you'd have to have an electromagnetic probe placed in the base of your skull, whilst immersed without clothing in the old tank." He paused, trying to determine if any of these was a deal breaker for her. Then almost as an afterthought, he added, "And, you'd be heavily drugged."

He said all this as if it wasn't a big deal. In any other situation, she probably would have scoffed at any one part of this plan, much less the whole thing put together. In truth, she probably never would have let the conversation go this far to start with. She considered herself a rational person, and she knew how insane this idea was. And yet, as Walter stood up and walked over to his equipment, she found herself still staring into space in the direction that he had just vacated, actually considering this as a viable option. This was her _only_ option, after all. What did she have to lose? If she did nothing, she lost John for sure. There was simply no time to come up with anything else.

That was when her eyes focused on Peter, still sitting at the desk behind where Walter had been sitting, and for a few seconds their eyes met. The look on his face a mixture of concern and disbelief. _He thinks I'm crazy to even think about this_ , she told herself. _He just doesn't understand. I_ _ **have**_ _to do this. I have no other choice._

 _Can you blame him for thinking you're crazy?_ the voice in her head replied immediately. _Did you_ _ **hear**_ _what Walter said this process involves?_

Meanwhile, only a few feet away, Peter stared at Olivia in disbelief. Somehow he'd kept expecting her to suddenly realize that this was simply not a good idea – for any one of many reasons – but it seemed like that was just not going to happen. _She's not_ _ **really**_ _going to do this…_ he insisted to himself. He didn't know her well, but he could plainly see that she was an intelligent person. No, surely she there was no way she would do this.

"What sort of drugs?" she asked, still looking in Peter's direction, though no longer really seeing him. She was looking past him now, too far inside her own head, too wrapped up in the thoughts of how she would save her partner.

"Oh, a mix of ketamine, neurontin, lysergic acid diethylamide…" Walter recited the names of the drugs in question as if he was reciting the ingredients for a milkshake, as if it was no big deal.

"That last one is LSD by the way – acid," Peter interjected quickly, standing up and wagging an index finger in the air. He simply couldn't stand by and watch her do this. At least not without making absolutely certain that she knew what she was getting into – which he still wasn't convinced that she did.

He'd already forgotten that he'd been furious with her only hours before. Never mind what she'd done to him, he wasn't going to allow her to put herself at risk like this. He had to protect her from Walter. He'd long since learned first-hand that the man's delusions were dangerous, and he wanted nothing more in that moment than to protect her from them. After all, someone had to, and since she seemed unwilling to do so herself, that only left him.

But Olivia wasn't listening. Later, when he got to know her better, he would come to see that this was very common behavior for her when her mind was made up.

"It'll take at least a few hours. I'd need your help to synthesize it, if it's not too much trouble." Walter was looking at Peter expectantly now.

 _Does he honestly expect him to_ _ **help him**_ _with this insane plan?_ Peter marveled. But Walter's expression was dead serious. Apparently he did.

"Yeah, sure, that sounds like fun," Peter replied sarcastically, knowing very well that the tone was completely lost on the older man. He strode forward quickly towards Olivia, who was still looking in his direction, though not focused on him. He stopped inches in front of her, attempting to make eye contact. She didn't focus on him at first, but he positioned himself directly in her line of sight and looked at her insistently. He _had_ to make her understand what she was doing.

"The man who was just released from the mental institution, he wants to give you a drug overdose, then stick a metal rod into your head and put you naked into a rusty tank of water," he told her urgently. That wasn't an exaggeration. That was what was actually going to happen if he couldn't change her mind.

"No, I don't _want_ to. No, I'd rather not. I'm just saying I _can._ " Walter couldn't quite understand why Peter seemed so agitated, but he felt slightly insulted that Peter would suggest that he would do such a thing for fun. Not that it wouldn't be a fascinating foray into the scientific world…

 _Am I the only person here who's not completely crazy?_ Peter wondered, feeling more and more frustrated by the second. He looked into her eyes, seeing the exhaustion in her face, knowing that all of her hope for her partner had come down to this one completely ludicrous plan, which explained the slightly crazed look of desperation in her eyes. He didn't know her well, but he could see the difference even just since the day they'd met in Iraq. She was going downhill quickly. As far as he knew, she hadn't slept whatsoever since the first time they'd met.

"Okay, Olivia, excuse me for a sec. Now you're _obviously_ under severe duress and you haven't slept since Iraq and the man you care about might die, but _I'm telling you, that man will kill you_." By the time he stopped talking, he was almost yelling at her. _Why are you getting so worked up?_ he asked himself. He couldn't articulate why it was so important for her to listen to him. Maybe because he felt like the only person who was seeing reason at that moment. Someone had to save her from herself, from believing in Walter's lunacy. He'd been down that road, and it never let anywhere you wanted to be.

She wasn't making eye contact with him, just looking past him over his shoulder somewhere, and he couldn't be sure whether she'd heard anything that he'd said.

"You don't understand the procedure," Walter replied calmly, as if Peter hadn't just been talking about him as if he wasn't even in the room. Peter glared at Walter in annoyance for a second before looking back at Olivia. He was frustrated that he couldn't get her to understand just how very bad of an idea this was.

Olivia was staring at the floor and felt her breath catch in her throat, felt the muscles in her face tighten and for a second, she was afraid she was going to lose her composure completely. _No,_ she thought firmly _, I will not break down in front of these two men that I barely know, especially the one in front of me, who would probably like nothing better than to see just that. To see me admit my weakness, admit defeat._

She thought back to the con man she'd met in Iraq, the one who had smiled at her and then refused to help her until it became a matter of necessity. _He probably thinks I'm pathetic,_ she thought angrily _, that he can say whatever he wants and get me to just go along with it, like everyone always goes along with his scams._ She was just barely holding on, and suddenly she felt anger at this man in front of her surge through her. She imagined that inside he was mocking her for being stupid enough to think that Walter could do anything to save John. No, she absolutely _refused_ to let him see her break down.

And so, just like that, she willed her face and voice to reflect a composure that she certainly didn't feel, and looked back up at Peter, meeting his eyes for the first time in several minutes. She knew her face was pained, but that couldn't be helped.

"John would do it for me," she replied simply. She wasn't certain of a lot of things when it came to other people – she'd never had much luck in relationships – but of this, she was absolutely sure.

Peter blinked back at her, not knowing what to say. One thing was for sure, he had never known anyone like Olivia Dunham. What she was considering doing… she was going to put her _life_ in the hands of someone she barely knew, someone who had proven numerous times in the short time she'd known him that he was almost without a doubt completely crazy. She was going to let the man who she herself had just escorted out of a _mental institution_ use her as a human science experiment, with absolutely no idea what would happen to her or what adverse reactions she might suffer as a result. Not only that, but she seemed not to have any hesitation whatsoever about doing so, didn't seem to give a single thought for her own personal safety. Her only thought was what she could do to save her partner.

A twinge of envy flashed through him before he even realized what it was. What must it be like to have someone in your life who was willing to do something so reckless on your behalf, no matter what the consequences? He wondered if this John Scott knew exactly how lucky he was, though he doubted that he possibly could. Had he himself _ever_ had a single person in his entire life for whom he would have considered doing something so completely insane?

The simple answer was no, not even close. He didn't even have to think about it. For this fact alone, he was completely in awe of her, and yet simultaneously completely frustrated by her. It was suddenly clear to him that no logic that he could present would work in the face of her blind determination. She was going to do this no matter what he said.

Without another word, she turned resolutely away from Peter to face Walter. "Set it up," she told him, her voice giving no hint of hesitation, "I'll get DHS authorization to bring John here."

Peter stood beside her, bringing his hand to his forehead, covering his eyes in disbelief for a second and laughing, but not a laugh because the situation was humorous. No, this situation was anything but humorous. Olivia was acting just as mentally unstable as Walter. Peter could simply not understand how she couldn't _see_ that what she was doing was ridiculous. He was speechless, which was not something that ever happened to him. No remotely rational person would to go through with this. It was simply too much. And yet, she was doing it.

"This is unbelievable," Peter said in agitation, putting out his hands in front of him, then bringing them up to his face as Olivia turned to look at him, her hands pressed together in front of her mouth.

She wished that she could make him understand. As frustrated as she was by him and his nagging, which was starting to get on her nerves (did he _really_ think that she couldn't see that this plan was crazy? Of course she knew that. But she wasn't about to let that stop her), a small part of her was starting to wonder if what he was doing _wasn't_ actually an attempt to manipulate or control her somehow… Was he actually, for whatever reason, _concerned_ about her wellbeing? And if so… _**why**_ _?_

Olivia had no idea why Peter seemed strangely passionate about not wanting her to go through with this plan. Sure it was a crazy idea, she couldn't argue with that. If someone had told her a few weeks back that _this_ would be a method that she would attempt in order to save her partner's life, she would definitely have questioned _their_ sanity. And yet, here she was, doing exactly what she would have considered to be completely insane herself, with no second thoughts whatsoever.

Peter was nearly frantic now, making loose fists beside his temples for emphasis, shaking them slightly, as he continued, "This is _**in**_ _sane._ _ **He**_ _is_ _ **in**_ _sane._ And you're insane for following him. _"_

Walter just looked on, intrigued by the scene taking place in front of him. He was excited that Olivia was so open to this experiment. As a scientist, doing something like this, something which tested the limits between what was possible and what everyone assumed to be impossible, fascinated him. He was disappointed that Peter was being so closed-minded, that he for some reason seemed determined to stop Olivia from going through with the plan. He wished that Peter would leave the poor young woman alone and let him try to help her…

He wasn't getting through to her, and Peter couldn't take it anymore. He had to walk away from her then, because he simply couldn't reason with her, and he was beyond exasperated.

Olivia turned to look at Walter. Her face now betrayed a hint of doubt about this whole thing, but she was determined not to be dissuaded.

"Excellent!" Walter said excitedly. "Let's make some LSD."

Olivia heard the door slam then as Peter retreated from the lab. She was conscious of the fact that she was the source of his frustration, but couldn't bring herself to be swayed by his opinion. After all, there was no other option. Besides, why should he get a say in any of this? She'd had to force him to come here in the first place. He didn't actually _care_ about helping her try to save John, all he cared about was keeping those sleazy "business associates" of his from finding out about his mysterious past. Or at least, that was how it had seemed until just a minute ago…

She wondered fleetingly if he was actually leaving for good, or just walking outside for some air and a change of scenery. If he didn't come back, she wondered how long it would be before Broyles found out, before someone forced her to take Walter back to St. Claire's. She wasn't confident that they'd have enough time to finish what they were doing there if that happened, and the prospect of it worried her. All this was for John, of course. She had to save John. She wasn't worried about what would happen to her. If John recovered, then it was worth it. If Walter was recommitted before he'd saved John's life… No, she couldn't even think about that.

It wouldn't have surprised her if Peter had just walked out for good. That would fit exactly what she expected of him, actually. It would make her life that much harder, but surprise her? Not at all. What she _would_ have been was disappointed. Despite what _he_ seemed to think of himself and how he acted most of the time, somehow she could sense good in him. That is, in the short interludes between the times when he was being an asshole. She just hoped that, if he really did decide to go, that he'd wait long enough to disappear until after they'd at least gotten John stabilized. He owed her nothing, of course – on the contrary, it was her who actually owed _him_ at this point, and he now knew it – but she hoped that for once, he'd do the right thing.

Peter stomped up the stairs, through the first floor of the Kresge building, silently counting himself lucky that the halls weren't crammed with students at that hour, and then flung open the outer doors at the entrance. Before he took a single step outside, he ran smack into a wall of frigid air that stung his lungs and stopped him in his tracks for half a second, before he pushed onward. He was that desperate to get out of the building at that moment.

 _God, I hate this weather_ , he thought in irritation. _Everything_ was irritating him at the moment. All he knew was that he needed to get away from the lab. He began walking hurriedly away from the building, not entirely sure whether he intended to ever go back. They were just so… frustrating wasn't even the right word. No, the pair of them – Walter and Olivia – were just so far _beyond_ frustrating, he had no word for it.

Even so, he'd only made it about a quarter mile before he slowed to a stop, turning around to look back at the exterior of the building. In a way, he wanted to walk away and never look back. It would be so easy, just then. He was already outside, no one was watching. No one knew him here except for the three people in that lab. He could go straight back to his old life, and he may still even be able to salvage the job in Iraq, if he played his cards right. He'd grabbed his jacket on the way out – thank goodness, considering the temperature – and his passport was in the inside pocket. That was all he really needed. The things in his bag, which sat in the lab, were expendable, nothing he couldn't replace. Really, nothing was keeping him here. _Just go_ , he told himself. _Go back to your own life. To hell with them, they're not your problem._

It was true, they weren't his problem, but one thing was nagging at him. Olivia was going to go into that tank, with him or without him. Walter was going to do God knew what to her, and she was going to let him. Astrid would be there, but the poor woman could only do so much, and she had no idea what Walter was capable of… No, as much as Olivia had gotten herself into this mess, Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of responsibility for getting her _out_ of it. This confused him, because since when did he feel any sort of responsibility for _anyone_ else? He didn't _want_ to stay here. He didn't _want_ to feel like he needed to protect Olivia from Walter. And yet, he did, plain and simple.

That was when he knew that he couldn't just walk away, at least not yet. At the same time, he wasn't ready to go back into lab, either. He sat down on a bench nearby, facing the Kresge building, glaring at it angrily, as if it was the building that had personally affronted him. _I'll give myself a little while to cool down, and then I'll go help Walter make some LSD_ , he thought, completely aware of just how insane that sentence sounded. After all these years, helping Walter do _anything_ was the last thing he'd ever thought he'd end up doing. But then again, he wasn't doing it for Walter. He was doing it for Olivia.

 _Well, what do you know, you're helping her out voluntarily after all,_ the voice in his head remarked innocently.

 _Shut up._ _It's only temporary_ , he told himself insistently _._

 _Maybe so,_ the voice replied, _but you're still here now._

With that, he decided that he'd had enough of the cold and of his warring thoughts, so he stood up stiffly, heading quickly back toward the warmth and light of the building's interior.


	8. Embarrassment

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: Here's another "deleted scene," aka one that only exists in my head. What can I say? I'm all about inserting as much interaction by these two into this story as humanly possible. ;) I hope I got their characters right._

Peter stopped outside the door of the lab, his hand on the doorknob. He'd sat outside and cooled off – literally and figuratively – and he was ready to go another round in the Crazy House. Er, Crazy Lab. Actually, he wasn't _really_ ready, but he had no choice. Now that he'd calmed down, he couldn't believe he'd lost his temper like that. It wasn't like him, but something about this whole situation was pressing every one of his buttons, repeatedly.

Between Walter being, well, _Walter_ , and Olivia being a whole other brand of pain in the ass, he didn't think it was a surprise that he was having trouble coping. Though to be fair, in Olivia's case, it was more that he was both angry at her but also embarrassed by the fact that she'd tricked him. She seemed like a nice enough person, or he would have been able to think so if they hadn't been stuck in this mess together… a touch too serious, but easy on the eyes and even more importantly, really smart. Hell, she'd read him well enough to beat him at his own game, so she was clearly a formidable opponent for him. It wasn't often that he met anyone who he thought of as his equal, but he was willing to admit - grudgingly – that she might be one such person.

After pausing for a long few seconds and slowly drawing in a deep breath, Peter finally turned the doorknob and reentered the lab. Everything and everyone inside was pretty much the way he'd left them. Astrid was listening intently to something that Walter was saying, Olivia was sitting at the desk shuffling through papers, examining them, lost deep in concentration. Peter paused in the doorway, then stepped the rest of the way in, tentatively, noting that none of them looked up at him.

Olivia heard the door open at the other end of the lab, but forced herself to ignore the noise, not allowing herself so much as a flinch. She was almost certain, even without looking up, that it was Peter who'd just arrived. She heard footsteps move slowly across the floor and still she wouldn't allow herself to look up. There was no way she was giving him the satisfaction.

What she would do, however, was admit – though only to herself – that she felt relieved that he hadn't simply decided to vanish into thin air. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd thought about it, and yet, there he was in the lab once again. She hoped that meant that he'd cooled down enough to stop being such a pain in the ass about this whole tank thing, because she was going to do it no matter what he said, despite how fucked up the whole thing seemed.

Peter walked slowly across the lab and stood off to the side of the table that Walter and Astrid were huddled beside, crossing his arms uncomfortably as he watched what they were doing. Astrid glanced up and smiled warmly in his direction, then looked back down at the items spread out on the table between them. Walter looked up as well, his eyes stopping on his son briefly, his expression empty for a moment before recognition flashed in them, so that Peter at least knew that he recognized him. Considering the past few days, Peter decided that he'd take that as a good sign. His expectations in this situation were clearly running rather low.

He glanced from Walter across the room to Olivia, who remained engrossed in her paperwork. He wondered if she was actually as engaged in the files in front of her as she appeared. Realizing that she probably wasn't going to give him an easy way to have this conversation, especially after the way he'd blown up at her earlier, he walked across the lab in her direction.

"Olivia," he said tentatively, stopping in front of the desk where she was sitting. He waited for her to look up from the documents that she was studying so carefully. It took a few seconds, but when she finally looked up at him, her eyes full of skepticism, just daring him to say the wrong thing. He was slightly taken aback, but he supposed that he deserved it. "Can I talk to you for a second?" He couldn't blame her for the look she gave him, if not because of how he'd acted earlier, then simply because she knew his track record. He'd be skeptical of him, too.

He glanced towards the door to the office at the far end of the lab. Her eyes followed his, understanding what he was saying, then came back to his face. Watching him for a second, she considered her options. Yes or no, plain and simple. She didn't particularly _want_ to have a private conversation with him. She was still rather annoyed with him after his ranting at her before he'd stormed out of the lab, in addition to what a pain in the ass he'd been pretty much since the moment they'd met. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? The two semi-serious conversations they'd had didn't qualify him to think that he knew her, and he certainly didn't have the right to tell her what to do.

 _Stop it,_ she told herself. _Yes, he overreacted, but now_ _ **you're**_ _the one overreacting. Think for a second about what you're about to_ _ **do**_ _. Can you blame him for thinking you're insane? OK, he could have handled his delivery better, but in some twisted way, it seemed like he was saying those things because he was worried about you. That's not called wanting to control you, it's called…_

Her thoughts faltered then. She was unfamiliar with having people show concern for her well-being, so much so that the concept was almost foreign to her. Aside from John or Charlie or Rachel, all of whom would undoubtedly have thought that what was going to happen in that lab was _far_ more insane than Peter did, she simply didn't have people to watch her back. She never really had. But that was fine, because she was an FBI agent, and she could watch her own back.

She _knew_ that Walter's plan was crazy, and that Peter had good reason to question her sanity for it. Her appearance, she was certain, didn't help her case. Peter had been right when he'd guessed that she hadn't slept since they'd been back from Iraq – she never really slept well anyway, and especially not when she was in the middle of a case, which was most of the time. Of course, he didn't look so well rested himself, if they were comparing.

However, none of this mattered because when it came down to it, there was simply no other option, no other way to save John. And as she'd told Peter, Olivia believed without a doubt that John would have done the same for her. How could she _not_ do whatever it took to save him?

 _You may not want to talk to Peter, but just remember,_ the voice in her head reminded her, _this "tolerating each other" thing that you and he are trying to do, so that Walter can be here to help John, isn't going to get better if you refuse to have a conversation with him._ She sighed inwardly, knowing that her inner voice spoke the truth.

Despite her annoyance, she supposed that if he was willing to speak to her calmly and rationally, unlike the way he'd done earlier, she'd be prepared to at least listen. She had no intention of being talked out of this, no matter how crazy it was, but she could at least listen to what he had to say. If nothing else, she could let him apologize for yelling at her. She wasn't sure if that was part of what he wanted to say, but she figured that it was a possibility.

When she looked at him now, there was an earnestness in his eyes and in the tone of his voice that hadn't been there before, and she found that though she wanted to, she couldn't say no to hearing him out.

Peter couldn't help but think that Olivia was taking a long time to think about whether she was going to talk to him or not. Finally, however, she sighed slightly, nodded and stood up from her chair.

"Excuse me for a second, Walter," she said kindly, smiling at the elder Bishop. Peter couldn't help but take it as a jab, intentional or not, that his oh so irritating father was getting the kind smile from her while he, the sane and rational one who was, despite everything, the only one who was attempting to look out for her well-being, was getting a look that was little more than a politely veiled scowl.

He didn't think that Olivia saw it as one Bishop versus another, however, it bothered him for some reason – maybe because he was so accustomed to being the person that other people trusted, despite the fact that, since he was a con man, they usually shouldn't have. Somehow he managed to keep his annoyance in check, knowing that that wouldn't help him talk to her rationally.

"Yes, of course, my dear," Walker replied, nodding. His face was full of curiosity as he watched the pair walk toward the office at the far end of the lab. Olivia's body language told him that she was less than thrilled to be taking part in this discussion – she walked tensely behind Peter, every muscle in her face appearing tight. Then again, this was a stressful situation, so maybe her demeanor merely reflected her stress. It was clear that she'd been through a lot in a short amount of time.

As Peter and Olivia walked toward the office, Walter couldn't help but think that his son certainly was acting strangely. He'd gone on and on at Olivia about how she was crazy to trust him. If nothing else, it was insulting that he would talk about him as though he wasn't in the room with them. Then again, he supposed that needing to be checked out of a mental institution wasn't exactly something that suggested that he should be trusted. In any case, he didn't know exactly what constituted normal behavior for Peter, so perhaps his earlier outburst _was_ perfectly normal for him. It was impossible to know, though he was quite interested to see if he could figure it out.

Walter attempted to theorize what Peter might want to talk to Olivia about in private. He only hoped that he wouldn't talk her out of going into the tank. He was _so_ looking forward to going through with that experiment. It certainly wasn't every day that he came across someone who was willing to participate.

Reaching the office, Peter motioned for Olivia to go through the doorway ahead of him, then followed her inside the office and closed the door quietly behind him. Olivia walked stiffly across the room, which was empty except for a dusty desk and chair that stood at the far end, covered in the same white sheets as the rest of the furniture in the lab. She went directly to the desk and pulled off the sheet, waving it in front of her face to dispel the dust that had flown in every direction. She then tossed the sheet to the floor and turned back to face him, her mouth a hard line. Leaning against the desk, she crossed her arms tightly against her chest and looked – no, glared – at him expectantly. He'd called this meeting, so he could be the one to talk first.

As he stood and looked at her, it was almost as though he could hear her thoughts. He knew that she wasn't happy with him. He wasn't happy with himself either. He was embarrassed that he'd lost his temper with her, something he very rarely did with anyone, and he sighed heavily, taking a few steps forward, towards her, before stopping suddenly, watching the look on her face. "Olivia," he began quickly, looking her in the eyes. For the most part, he looked like he was ready to be honest. However, the confident smirk that she'd grown accustomed to seeing on his face in the past few days, though turned down, was still just barely visible. He _almost_ looked like he meant it when he said, "I know, I was… an ass." _Almost._

 _Nice try,_ she thought. She was amused to see that he seemed surprised when she didn't react beyond a questioning raise of her eyebrows, but she didn't let herself smile. _You can do a lot better than that, Bishop_ , she thought, but said nothing. The surprise faded from his face, and an earnest and determined look replaced it. Her expression softened ever so slightly as she noticed the change, and she waited for him to try again.

He watched her for a reaction, but she said nothing. Her only movement was her eyebrows rising slightly, questioningly. This surprised him, and he stood and just looked at her for several seconds, unsure of what to do next. He didn't know exactly what he'd been expecting, but he'd definitely been expecting more than _that_. Olivia, however, could see that despite the apology, he was still putting on an act. He was just telling her what she wanted to hear, and she had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of thinking that that was okay.

She continued to stare at him, arms crossed, face impassive. He was actually beginning to doubt his ability to talk his way out of this situation, something that he hadn't experienced in a very long time. After all, he'd talked his way out of _far_ more serious scenes with all the confidence in the world. People liked him, and they tended to respond to him easily – he was charming and he knew it. But for some reason, with Olivia staring at him the way she was at that moment, he was suddenly at a loss.

 _It's not that you_ _ **can't**_ _talk your way out of this_ , the voice in his head suddenly informed him. _The difference is, you don't_ _ **want**_ _to just talk your way out of this. You actually care about the outcome, about what she thinks._ He thought about this revelation for a moment, truly surprised. Was _that_ why the feeling was so unfamiliar? _Why do I care?_ he wondered.

He took another step forward, then seemed to think better of it and stopped. Unlike when they'd sat close together on the bench earlier that day, talking about how there had actually been no FBI file on him, her body language told him in no uncertain terms that she wanted him to stay back for the time being. "I'm sorry about before," he told her simply, still waiting for her face to show some sign of acknowledgement. From her expression, he saw that she still didn't seem to be impressed.

It wasn't like him to be so flustered, he thought. Usually he knew _exactly_ what to say and what to do. _Get ahold of yourself, Bishop_ , he told himself. _You see the problem, now do something about it._ This time ignoring what she may or may not have been thinking about his proximity to her, he took three more steps forward, and found himself close enough to her that they could have been having a normal conversation. He looked at her closely, seeing a mix of emotions in her eyes, anchored by what appeared to be a fierce determination – or was it just stubbornness? The two emotions were close enough that it could have been either one, or a mix of both. From what he'd learned about her so far, she certainly seemed to possess a surplus of both.

She tensed for a second as he moved closer to her, but forced herself to relax. _You agreed to at least listen to him, so listen to him_ , she reminded herself.

Peter knew that he had to do better, to be _honest,_ since that was what she seemed to be waiting for. _A real apology,_ he told himself, _because as you can see, she can tell the difference._ So he inhaled slowly and tried again."Olivia, I'm sorry I lost my temper with you," began slowly. He'd expected to feel uncomfortable to let down his con man façade, but she was surprisingly easy to talk to, despite the fact that the glare hadn't completely disappeared from her face.

He held her gaze steadily as he continued. "I'm embarrassed… I don't… _do_ that. Lose control. I can't remember the last time I did, anyway. And _of course_ it's none of my business what you do or don't do, I just… I guess I got upset thinking about Walter putting you in danger."

He stopped for a second. _Is_ _ **that**_ _why I'm so opposed to her going along with this crazy plan?_ He hadn't even realized it until the words came out of his mouth. _But other than not wanting to see Walter do any further damage to the human race, why in the world would it I be so worried about this woman who I barely know, and who has done so much to ruin everything I've built?_

She watched in fascination as his face changed. It was almost as though the words that came out of his mouth surprised even him. It was certainly far more honesty than she had expected from him. At least, it _seemed_ like he was being honest. She couldn't be sure, of course, given his history. But he didn't seem to be finished.

"I'm on edge already, with, well, _everything_ …" he continued, glancing around the lab and hoping that the word _everything_ covered pretty much all of the insanity that they'd already seen in the past few days. "and I guess I… I'm worried because this just seems irrationally dangerous, like you're risking your life for something that probably won't even work. I don't want you to be a victim of Walter's latest failed experiment. I—"

He paused for a moment, his mouth pulling into a tight line, as though he was considering whether or not to say the words that were in his head aloud. _Oh, what the hell?_ he thought. _I've come this far._ "I would feel personally responsible if something happened to you and I could've stopped it."

Now he was getting a reaction from her, though it looked like she was fighting to keep her face from betraying her. "And how do I know you're not just saying what you think I want to hear? It's kinda _what you do_ , right?" she challenged him. The look on her face didn't quite say that she _didn't_ believe him, merely that she wanted him to acknowledge how she might be skeptical.

He supposed he deserved that, and she wasn't wrong. Pausing to consider how to answer, he glanced around the room, then back at her, shrugging with a grimace. His eyes locked on hers again.

"I guess… I guess at the end of the day, it's all just words. So you _can't_ knowfor sure if it's all a lie, I suppose, unless you go inside _my_ head. I guess you either believe me or you don't… it's up to you."

She didn't _want_ to believe him. It was easier to believe that what he was saying was just him conning her and that everything he said was a lie. It was easier to be mad at him. After all, he'd made it clear that he wasn't planning to stick around, the very thought of which made her anxious – and not solely because it meant that she'd also lose Walter.

And yet, he didn't leave before, when he'd walked out angry. He'd come back. That should count for _something_ , shouldn't it? Looking at him now, she had to admit, albeit grudgingly, that he seemed to be sincere in his apology. She wanted to trust her judgement – she was good at this, after all – but it felt like a big risk. She stared into his eyes for nearly another minute before deciding that she would risk it. Nodding in acknowledgement, she offered him a slight smile before she set her face with determination once again.

"Okay… but you know you're not going to talk me out of doing this, right?"

He felt a weight lift from his shoulders that he hadn't known had been there. Despite the fact that he _was_ being completely honest with her – a behavior that was uncomfortably foreign to him – he really hadn't been sure if she would accept his apology or his explanation. They'd been off to a rocky start from the beginning, to put it mildly, after all.

A slow smile crossed his face then, and he chuckled softly. "No, I think I already know better than to try to talk you out of this," he told her, shaking his head slightly. She couldn't help but smile at his remark, knowing herself and her own stubbornness as she did.

They were quiet for a few seconds, just watching each other, both evaluating the other. Neither one of them was accustomed to being around someone else with whom they had that particular talent in common. Finally Olivia glanced toward the door. "I should get back to work," she told him. She was glad they'd cleared the air, but there was still so much to be done.

"Of course," he replied, stepping to the side, out of her way, immediately.

She pushed herself up off of the desk and took a step forward, then stopped and looked at him again. "Thank you," she said simply.

He tilted his head slightly, not sure what she was referring to. For apologizing? Because she shouldn't be thanking him for that. He'd owed it to her. "For what?" he asked, confused.

She almost looked embarrassed then, and she glanced away before looking back at him. She didn't want to answer, but it wasn't an unreasonable question. She pursed her lips and exhaled slowly, then forced the words out. "For caring, I guess."

He watched her carefully, thinking that this time it was her turn to seem as surprised by his concern as he was. That told him something interesting about _her_ , and he stored that information away for future reference. Not, of course, that he planned to be around beyond the immediate future, he reminded himself quickly.

In response to her admission, he simply nodded at her and smiled slightly as she continued toward the door and out of the office. He followed her back into the lab, bracing himself for Walter being, well, Walter. He really didn't plan to stay in Boston much longer, but the least he could do was try to ensure that Walter didn't electrocute Olivia with this particular experiment. After that, she'd be on her own.


	9. Determined

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

 _A/N: So I don't have a beta reader, and apparently I was very tired the last time I proofread this chapter before I posted it the first time. I was rereading it a few days ago and not only was I unhappy with it in general, but I found a ton of mistakes. So I pulled it off the site, gave it extensive revising and editing, and I'm hoping that it is now substantially improved. My apologies!_

Olivia could tell from looking at him that Charlie didn't understand what was going on in Walter's lab, and that he understood even less why she had agreed to be a part of it. She couldn't blame him, really, because up until a few days ago she would've thought that the whole operation was every bit as crazy as he obviously did. The fact that he didn't understand it didn't dissuade her, however. She respected his opinion, but she didn't need his approval.

"My God," Charlie murmured, looking notably shaken when he caught sight of John. Their coworker lay still on a long table in the middle of the lab, his frighteningly translucent skin shining under the lights. If not for the small movements of his breathing, it would have been logical to assume that he was dead. Olivia watched from the raised platform that wrapped around the room as Charlie stood beside their colleague, unable to keep the look of horror from his face.

Charlie looked up at Olivia and caught her watching him. In that moment, he understood just a little better why she was doing what she was doing – whatever it was. Since they'd met years ago, Charlie had seen Olivia grow into a fierce and determined agent, one who didn't hesitate to do what she felt was right, despite potential danger to her own well-being. He saw that determination on her face now. Though it all still baffled him, he knew that whatever she was a part of here was for John. He knew that she and John were, to put it diplomatically, "close." They had been trying to keep it a secret for a while now, but Charlie was close enough to both of them to know better.

"Be careful, Liv," he told her quietly. He didn't elaborate, but Olivia understood his message clearly: _If this can happen to him, it can happen to any of us. Something about that case is dangerous, Liv. Be careful._

She nodded at him slightly, a sad smile on her face. Somehow, seeing the whole scene again through Charlie's eyes made it more real, and reminded her of just how much was at stake. Olivia watched as Charlie turned around and walked quickly out of the lab. For a second she wished that she could do the same, that she could retreat back to her "old life," the life she'd had three or four days ago. Things had been simple and, all things considered, she'd been happy. After all, she had a decent place to live, a job she loved, a pretty serious relationship with a great guy (never mind that it was taboo because he was her partner), a sister and niece who she adored… Her life had been far from perfect, but it hadn't been too bad. Considering everything she'd been through when she was younger, she'd come a long way. She would go so far as to say that she was happy - most of the time, anyway.

And now here she was, only a few days removed from the life that now seemed so simple, in a secret lab below Harvard University, about to strip almost naked in front of people who were practically strangers, and, as Peter had so eloquently put it earlier, allow herself to be electrocuted in a rusty tank of water by a mad scientist based solely on said mad scientist's theory that she could go inside the mind of a man in a coma. To say that her life had taken a turn for the bizarre didn't even begin to cut it, not by a long shot.

Peter, for his part, had been watching Charlie and Olivia's exchange. Since interactions between people were such a critical part of his "job," (if you could call it that) he was constantly studying the way different people related to each other, whether he knew them or not. Sometimes it was just practice. It was like a game to him to try and guess who the people were to each other. In those cases it was hard to know if he was right, because he couldn't exactly ask them follow up questions... not without finding an excuse to talk to them, anyway.

Other times, when he observed people for a specific reason, Peter simply found a reason to interact with them. It was actually surprisingly easy most of the time. Over the years he'd honed his skill at reading people, to the point where he was today. These days he felt very confident about his chances of being right. His track record spoke for itself. Of course, his inability to read Olivia correctly had been what had landed him in Bostonin the first place… which might be why observing her was even more interesting than watching most other people. Unlike other people, reading her was a challenge, and he did _love_ a challenge.

In the past few days he'd had plenty – _more_ than enough – interactions with Walter, as well as lots with Astrid and Olivia – but few to none with anyone else. Charlie Francis' appearance in the lab was a new variable thrown into the mix, and Peter was interested in the dynamic between the two FBI agents. He could see a deep sense of mutual respect and friendship between them. They seemed equally matched when it came to the seriousness with which they approached their jobs, and Charlie was obviously concerned about what Olivia had gotten herself involved in.

 _As well he should be_ , Peter thought as Charlie walked out of the lab. _He doesn't know the half of it. If he did, he'd probably be dragging her out of here along with him._ Pausing for a second to imagine Charlie – or anyone else, for that matter – attempting to get Olivia to do _anything_ she hadn't decided to do herself, he chuckled slightly to himself. If there was one thing that was already clear about Olivia, it was that she was passionate – which could also be read as stubborn – when she'd made up her mind about something.

Peter walked down the short staircase at the center of the lab, Olivia following behind him. When he reached the computer terminal on the far wall he paused, checking the sensors that waited on the counter there. These needed to be attached to Olivia's skin. He turned to look over his shoulder just as Olivia took off the thick, white robe that she'd been wearing in preparation for the procedure. In so doing, she was now facing him wearing only her black bra and underwear. While he'd known that doing this was a necessary step in preparation for going into the tank, he hadn't expected to see her stripping to almost nothing at that exact moment. Momentarily, yes, but still, he was caught off guard. It was one of those things that fell under the "things that you don't see at work every day" category, to be sure.

He was certainly not going to complain, of course, because she was… well, _gorgeous_ would be an understatement.

If someone had accused Peter of being something of a ladies' man, he certainly wouldn't have been able to truthfully deny it – and he'd been with his share of gorgeous women. He hadn't really been one for relationships, so he already knew more about Olivia Dunham after a few intense days around her than he had about any of the long string of women he'd successfully charmed. That fact by itself didn't bother him. On the contrary, while it was more in his nature to hold himself back from other people, he was enjoying the novelty of seeing the puzzle that was Olivia seeming to come together before his eyes. The tidbits that he'd gleaned about her in their few civil interactions interested him because he got the feeling that she wasn't someone who opened up to others easily. He was the same way, actually. He'd perfected the art of saying a lot and yet still revealing next to nothing.

Despite his initial resistance to helping her when she'd asked back in Iraq, he found that he no longer minded. As long as he was already here, what was the harm? The things she wanted to _do_ to herself, that she wanted Walter's help with – and by extension, his help as well – were crazy, of course, but that was a whole other story.

It was still hard to wrap his brain around the fact that _she_ was the one who'd conned _him_. That was part of what made this whole thing so strange – though definitely not the only thing. Not only had he not been in control of the situation, at least initially, but while he could certainly _use_ his charm on her, for once it wasn't his primary objective.

 _You've been anything_ _ **but**_ _charming with her, actually_ , he told himself. He had to admit that he'd been kind of an asshole to her on and off since they'd met… possible more "on" than "off."

He tried to decide why the whole situation had him so aggravated. When was the last time he'd spent time with someone any more than in passing who _wasn't_ the target of one of his cons? In his everyday life, he dealt with the people he did because they were useful to him in some way. This strange band of individuals, with whom he now found himself, however, could do nothing for him. He wasn't trying to get anything from them. He'd just been trying not to have his whole operation blown wide open… but what was he doing now? He wasn't even sure. No wonder he felt so irritable. Between having been conned himself and then having to interact with these people without a plan of any kind… it was unfamiliar territory.

Yes, Peter was undeniably a con man. It happened to be what he was good at, and it suited his need to move around frequently. Putting down roots had just never been his thing, and he'd certainly never had the urge to end up in Boston. There'd never been anything or anyone that had made him want to stay in _any_ one place. For as long as he could remember, he'd never felt like he belonged anywhere.

The piercing eyes of Olivia Dunham suddenly jolted him from his thoughts. In that second when she stood in front of him, undressed in preparation to go into the tank, he felt something that he couldn't immediately identify. He certainly didn't object to looking at her, and yet, it felt… _wrong_. She wasn't just _some woman_ that he was attempting to seduce in order to get something from her, and though he'd been fiercely angry with her as recently as a few hours ago, he couldn't help but feel strangely protective toward her. She was risking her life to save **the man she loved** ( _You've never actually met him, but he's laying right there a few feet away_ , he reminded himself. _Remember him? John Scott? The reason you ended up here in the first place?_ )… despite her tough as nails exterior, there was something very romantic about that.

When it came down to it, Peter wasn't accustomed to forming enough of an attachment to anyone that he felt protective toward them. It was mildly uncomfortable, reminding him that he'd already stayed longer than he wanted to in Boston – which wasn't hard, since he hadn't wanted to be there in the first place. He wasn't even sure why he was still there, considering that he now knew that Olivia had tricked him into coming back. No, he definitely wouldn't be staying much longer.

He looked her in the eyes as he moved towards her, and was surprised to find that she was staring back into his with an intensity that he hadn't expected. She'd folded the thick bathrobe over one arm and was holding it against her, just staring at him. Even for Olivia, the look she was giving him was surprisingly intense. He continued to hold her gaze as he approached her, attempting to read the look on her face.

Olivia wasn't a social person, but she wasn't shy. She wasn't one for small talk and preferred to get right to the point. There weren't a lot of people that she trusted – life had roughed her up in her formative years. Still, she considered herself relatively well adjusted, all things considered. She'd survived and moved on, at any rate, or that was what she told herself. She wasn't a prude, though if you'd told her that she'd be stripping to her undergarments as a part of her _job_ , she probably would have assured you that it was not happening for any reason whatsoever, not in a million years.

However, she had decided that doing so was necessary in order to pursue the best (and only) lead in this case, and she had always put her dedication to her job and to other people above any consideration for her own health or safety, more and more so as the years went by. Therefore, she didn't hesitate to remove the bathrobe and basically expose herself to the two men who she had met only a few days ago, as well as her own assistant. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "putting it all on the line for the job."

At the same time, while she hadn't hesitated to do it, that didn't mean she was comfortable with it. But there was no other way, so it was happening and it wasn't going to do any good for her to sit around over-thinking it. As she held the folded robe in front of her, she looked at Peter, the con man that she'd had to con himself to get him here to help her. His record didn't exactly scream "stand-up, trustworthy guy," and they'd seriously pissed each other off more than a few times in the very short time they'd known each other. His frequent, biting sarcasm was ever present and he was more than a little bit arrogant about just how smart he was. In short, he could be kind of an asshole when he decided to.

And yet… even so, there was something about him, something she couldn't identify that put her at ease. No, "at ease" wasn't quite the right way to describe it. She certainly didn't feel at ease at that moment. The look that she was giving him was so stern that her face was actually starting to ache because the muscles were pulled so tightly. She couldn't have said exactly _why_ she held his gaze quite as determinedly as she did, and yet, for those seconds she couldn't tear her eyes away from his. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he seemed as determined as she was to hold other people at arms' length, albeit by using a different technique. Somewhere behind all that, she swore that sometimes she saw a flicker of understanding. After all, it was something they certainly had in common.

In any case, staring at him was keeping her anchored at that precise moment, helping to keep her mind off of the fact that she was standing in front of her coworkers in her underwear, off of the fact that she was about to be heavily drugged and allegedly led into the mind of another human being by a man who could reasonably be called a real-life mad scientist. If ever she'd needed another person to anchor her in reality – and she prided herself on _never_ needing another person for any reason if there was any way around it – it was that moment. So she stared into his eyes, her expression hard and revealing nothing, but somehow drawing strength from this relative stranger in front of her and the unexplainable, sudden… what was it? Yes, it was _warmth_ in his eyes. He couldn't even know how much she needed the eye contact that he was providing… _or could he_?

He stepped forward and took the robe from her, setting it down nearby. When he turned back to face her, the intense stare was gone, her eyes now refusing to meet his for more than a fraction of a second at a time. She glanced between the floor and at him repeatedly, now suddenly self-conscious. Walter approached then, ready to begin the final preparations, as Peter picked up the first of the sensors that would be applied to her skin – these on her stomach. In order to do so, he was forced to look away from her face, though he continued to feel her eyes on him.

"Now, where was I?" Walter began, readying his equipment. "Could you tilt your head forward, please?" It was as though he was asking her to open a window or pass him a piece of lab equipment, as if he wasn't about to inject her with… _No, don't think about it,_ she told herself insistently as she reached back to sweep her long hair off of her neck.

Peter was still attaching sensors to her stomach, paying close attention to their placement. He was not going to deny that he liked his "job" at the moment – if doing something that he was deeply against at the insistence of someone he had hoped never to see again for the benefit of someone who had basically blackmailed him to get him there so that she could save someone he'd never met could be considered his job, anyway. Still, he felt uneasy about the whole thing. He would certainly not be against seeing Olivia Dunham in this particular state of undress, but this was hardly the way it should be happening, as far as he was concerned. She was in a relationship with the injured man across the room – not that that was necessarily always an issue – but it wasn't just that. The biggest thing that bothered him about seeing her like this was because of what it meant, what she was doing to herself on behalf of someone else. He had no way to know whether said someone else was actually worthy of this kind of devotion, this level of risk.

 _Admit it, you're worried about her_ , a voice in his head said in a tone that was somewhere between mocking and accusatory.

 _So what if I am?_ he replied. _She's putting her life in Walter's hands. Walter. Who can't be trusted with caring for_ _ **himself**_ _, much less being responsible for someone else's well-being. I'd be kind of an asshole if I_ _ **wasn't**_ _worried about her, wouldn't I? She's a pain in the ass, yes, but I don't want her to_ _ **die**_ _._

 _Is that why?_ the voice asked. _Okay, if you say so._

Just as Walter put his hand on the back of her neck to secure her hair, which she'd flipped partially over her left shoulder, Peter leaned up slightly so that his face was even with hers, only inches in front of her. When her eyes met his she couldn't help but notice in surprise that there was an earnestness there, and after what little she had learned about him over the past few days, she imagined that it wasn't an expression that many people got to see from him. After all, in his line of work, what use could he have for earnestness? Or was what she was seeing just something else that he'd perfected in order to make people see what they wanted to see? For some reason, however, she believed that his expression was genuine. After all, what did he have to gain by deceiving her at that moment?

"I still think this is deeply irresponsible, and believe me, I would know," he told her in a low voice. His self-deprecating sense of humor didn't go unnoticed by her, despite his seriousness.

 _He's calling himself irresponsible? Interesting…_ Any other time, she may have contemplated what it meant that the man who'd seeming irritatingly arrogant up to that point was berating himself in order to make a point about how strongly he disapproved of the risk she was taking. However, she was focused more on the sensation on the back of her neck, where Walter was currently swabbing alcohol to clean the skin for the injection she was about to get. Peter obviously didn't know her very well if he thought that his words – especially at this point, when they'd already come so far and with so much at stake – were going to change her mind.

To his credit, he'd been about 99% certain that what he told her wasn't going to make any difference, but he'd just felt that for his own piece of mind, he needed to try one more time to talk her out of it. _But why do you care so much?_ the voice in his head asked again. He ignored the voice and continued to focus on the woman in front of him.

Despite the fact that she hadn't been concentrating her full attention on Peter's words, since she was bracing herself for what was about to happen behind her, she had heard him all the same. It didn't change anything, of course, but once again, she couldn't help but feel surprised that he seemed to care enough to continue to try to talk her out of it. He had no stake in this, after all – he hadn't had one, even a perceived one, for a while now. He could have already left Boston, and he knew it. What was more, _she_ knew that he knew it.

And yet here he was, in the lab with them, with _her_. From the way he acted toward the man, she could tell that he wasn't doing this for Walter's sake. If it were up to him, he would have walked away and let Walter go back to St. Claire's. There was nothing to say that he still wouldn't, actually. No, he was doing it for _her_ … though now that he knew that she didn't really have an FBI file on him, as grateful as she was that he'd stayed this long, she wasn't quite sure _why_ he had. Surely he'd had enough by now.

Peter attached the last of the sensors on Olivia's stomach as Walter turned and reached for the first of the syringes that she would be injected with. "This is an anesthetic," Walter said, already pushing the thin needle into the base of her neck. She noted that it wasn't terribly painful. Considering her line of work, she'd certainly experienced far greater pain as an almost regular part of her job. Closing her eyes against the slight discomfort, she continued to lean forward and waited for the strange sensation to pass.

Remaining crouched in front of Olivia, Peter watched her close her eyes against the feeling of the first and least painful injection. There was nothing he could do for her at this point, beyond whatever Walter asked him to do to assist with this insane science experiment… and yet he felt the need to remain close by. _Someone_ with a clear head should be there.

"It'll feel normal working," Walter observed as he injected the last of the anesthetic into Olivia's neck.

 _This man is unbelievable,_ Peter thought, trying to hide his irritation.

"Yeah, cause bootlegging smack in the basement is just the picture of normalcy," Peter replied sarcastically. The remark was directed at Walter, though he and Olivia both knew that the sarcasm would be completely lost on the man. He'd glanced up at Walter for a split second, but then Peter's eyes had immediately returned to hers. Again, there was something very calming about the way he was looking at her. She couldn't quite concentrate hard enough to keep her eyes locked on his, but his steady presence in front of her gave her something on which she could at least attempt to focus. Something about him being there in front of her helped to quiet the fears that were slowly creeping into her mind. If she didn't know better, she would have said that he could sense it without her having to tell him, and that was why he'd positioned himself there. _Don't be ridiculous_ , she told herself.

Despite Peter's steadying effect on her, her anxiety continued to increase little by little. _I have no other choice_ , she reminded herself. _And besides, John would do it for me. I know he would._ It wasn't that she was having second thoughts, it was just… well, the insanity of what she was about to do… it was just all beginning to take its toll. She looked down again, away from Peter, as she felt the pressure – though no longer the sensation, thanks to the anesthetic – of Walter's gloved fingers holding a small device near her neck, the much larger needle just barely touching her skin as he positioned it and then suddenly, with no further warning, she felt a pain much more intense and burning than she had expected, more than any she could recall from any other type of injection she'd had in the past. It was unlike any sensation she'd ever felt before, shooting through her head, down her arms and up and down her spine to every part of her body at once.

Gasping, and bringing her hand quickly to cover one of Walter's gloved hands on her neck in an involuntary reaction, she was suddenly unable to hold herself upright, and she fell forward heavily against Peter. A second later, as the sensation slowly faded, she found her forehead leaning against his chest, his chin against the side of her head slightly behind her ear. She certainly hadn't planned to be anywhere near this close to him, but she couldn't focus on that at the moment because the pain overshadowed everything else, radiating through her whole body. For a second she wondered what the hell she was doing, subjecting herself to _whatever it was_ that this madman was doing to her.

Peter had been standing by, not sure what to expect and trying to make eye contact with an increasingly shaken looking Olivia when suddenly, just as Walter had plunged the larger of the needles into her neck, she had lunged forward without warning. If he hadn't been standing there, she surely would have landed face first on the floor. He was able to brace himself quickly and held her up as she gasped, panting slightly against what he could only imagine from her reaction must have been intense pain.

"I got you," he whispered soothingly. "I got you." Never mind that she'd fallen against him because his father was drugging her for a scientific experiment. Never mind that she was his, well, sort of his coworker and she was going through with this insane plan because of the apparent depth of her love for a man named John Scott. Never mind any of that… there was something about having Olivia Dunham leaning on him that way that he did _not_ hate. Him, Peter Bishop, self-proclaimed card-carrying cynic and serial nomad, conman and commitment-phobe. He could not have put it into words if he'd tried, all he knew was that he was glad he was there to catch her, simple as that. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had _needed_ him – for anything other than a business transaction, that is – but he knew without being told that at that moment, Olivia needed him.

Peter managed to get her to a chair nearby as Walter opened the creaking doors of the Tank. The younger Bishop knelt in front of her, and after ensuring that she was stable enough to sit upright again, began attaching sensors strategically across her collarbone. Looking at her intently again, he whispered, "I hope your guy is worth it." She stared into his eyes and he had to remind himself that what he was seeing wasn't actually a sudden look of desperation, as it appeared to be, but more likely the slightly dazed look on her face was from the drugs that were probably already flowing through her system. It was tempting to remain right where he was, right in front of her, but there was still more work to be done to get her ready. After all, she'd insisted that she wanted to do this and he had to respect that decision, no matter how wrong it felt.

Peter stood up to get the rest of the sensors and Walter came to fill the space his son had abandoned, sitting down in the chair beside Olivia. Peter returned to stand beside her on the other side, attaching sensors on each of her temples while Walter took out yet another needle. Olivia regarded it seriously, attempting to focus on the object in Walter's hand with her increasingly fuzzy vision, her thoughts swirling. "And this," Walter told her almost reverently, "will rip open your consciousness."

 _Dear God_ , thought Peter. _If that doesn't sound ominous, I don't know what does._ He tensed as he watched the needle pierce her skin, hoping that Walter knew what the hell he was doing. He couldn't decide whether he thought that what Olivia was doing was incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid.

Walter injected the last of the drugs into her arm as Olivia struggled to remain upright once again. She still wasn't second guessing her decision to go ahead with this whole thing, but the sensations that she was feeling were overwhelming her in ways that she never could have predicted. She had certainly never felt anything like this before.

She leaned forward slightly, bracing herself to stand up and hesitating for only a few seconds. Then suddenly Peter's hand was on her arm, and she took a deep breath and pushed herself out of her chair. As she did so, Peter's hand moved across her back to give her more support for the walk across the room to the Tank. Maybe it was the drugs, but she felt no anxiety whatsoever about having this man she barely knew, this man who was not her significant other, wrap his arm around her, touching so much of her bare skin. Far from being uncomfortable, yet again there was something calming about it… but she told herself that she was merely feeling the effects of the drugs, probably the LSD.

 _Holy crap! I let a mad scientist give me homemade LSD!_ her mind screamed for just a second, before she was again overwhelmed by the uncomfortable sensations that were overpowering her.Leaning heavily against Peter, she felt Walter take her other arm, and the three of them moved slowly toward the old sensory deprivation tank that Walter was so excited to put back into use.

Once Olivia was situated, lying in the water, Peter stood beside Walter as they looked down at her, her hair pulled back above her head. As usual, Walter was saying things to her that should not be said out loud, much to his son's embarrassment. Peter wasn't sure why this still came as a surprise to him, but it did. Had Walter _really_ just started a sentence addressed to Olivia with "If you don't come back?" Seriously, what was _wrong_ with this man? And if Walter really thought that that was a possibility, how could he in good conscience let her go through with this? Was she no more than a lab rat to him?

Peter glared at Walter, but he knew that the older man hadn't noticed. As they closed the creaking doors of the Tank, shutting Olivia inside, Peter couldn't help but wish that he could have stayed there and watched her to reassure himself that she was okay. But Olivia had left herself at the mercy of Walter's insane brilliance – or maybe just insanity – and if she could allow herself to be the guinea pig, then he could sit around and wait. Waiting was by far the easier of the two, after all.

Peter had never liked situations that were beyond his control. He had fashioned his life so that this rarely, if ever, happened anymore. In the line of work he had chosen for himself, the more variables that were out of his control, the more dangerous things became. And so he worked hard to keep things within his control – at all times, if possible. However, that just made the waiting that he was now faced with that much worse. There was no way to know how long it would take Olivia to find her way inside of John Scott's mind, if it would work at all, what she would find there if it did, how they would know if it had worked, or how long it would be safe for her to stay there… or how to get her back out, for that matter.

To his surprise, Peter found himself concerned about all of these things – no, he could admit to himself that he was actually _worried_ about these things. Walter may or may not have thought that he knew how to do this safely, and how to bring her back out again, but that was no guarantee either way. He didn't exactly have a track record of good judgement, after all, and Peter was fairly sure that at that moment, Olivia was as much an interesting science experiment as an actual person to him. All there was to do now was wait, and this was perhaps one of the few things that Peter Bishop, with his 190 IQ, was _not_ good at. At least, not when it mattered to him.

 _Why_ _ **does**_ _this matter to you, anyway?_ a voice inside him asked, but he ignored it.

And so he paced. He drank enough coffee that he was fairly sure he wouldn't be sleeping that night even if this crazy experiment ever _did_ wind down. He studied Walter's brainwave charts for both John and Olivia and he listened to Walter drone on about his theory – or he tried to listen, at least – and supplied enough sarcastic replies to more than make up for several people… not that Walter even noticed. Peter told himself that it would all be fine, that _she_ would be fine. He forced himself to keep a calm demeanor because well, what else could he do? And just when he felt like surely they should have heard something by now, and that something _must_ be wrong, they heard her gasp.

"What was that?" Peter demanded. They looked at the brainwave chart, which was spiking. Something was definitely happening.

They continued to look from the brainwave chart to the video feed of Olivia, who lay still in the water. And then after a few minutes, they heard her voice, softly but surely.

 _He did it_ , Peter thought in amazement.


	10. Annoyance

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

They couldn't tell exactly what was wrong. All Walter and Peter could see from their perspective, staring at the instruments that helped them monitor Olivia's vital signs during the exceptionally strange procedure, was that she was agitated beyond an acceptable level. As the machine's rapid beeping blared loudly to signal that her heartrate had reached dangerous levels, far beyond what was acceptable even for someone under stress, all at once it became clear that allowing her to remain in the tank and to come out of whatever was happening to her naturally was simply an unacceptable risk. The chance that she would suffer irreparable damage was too great.

For once, Peter didn't defer to Walter's scientific opinion, instead going on what he knew about the conditions that a human body could tolerate and his genuine and unexpected concern for Olivia's wellbeing. He was _not_ going to allow anything to happen to her. Wasn't that why he was standing there in the first place? Why he hadn't already hopped on a plane for anywhere but here? To protect her from Walter's experiment? He was moving across the room towards the metallic monstrosity that she had allowed herself to be put into in the name of saving John Scott's life before he actually told his feet to go anywhere.

As Olivia strained to keep up with the flow of images before her eyes, there was an explosion, a blinding flash of light – the same one there had been at the warehouse – and then almost faster than she could process the image, a face flashed before her eyes for just a split second. It was gone just as quickly – all of it. She was no longer inside John Scott's mind, couldn't see anything, she could only hear a deafening roar as she was suddenly ripped from his consciousness. 

_If I wasn't here, would he have left her in there out of his own curiosity, or pulled her out?_ Peter wondered in the seconds it took him to move from the instrument panel, around the large metal structure to the doors on the far side. It was a disturbing thought, but there was no time to dwell on it. It almost didn't matter anyway, since Walter, despite the fact that he was constantly pushing the limits in his experiments and displaying what Peter saw as an alarming tolerance for potential harm to his subjects, had rushed to the doors of the tank on Peter's heels to help his son remove Olivia from its depths.

Peter threw open the heavy doors and quickly lifted Olivia – who was lighter than he'd expected, despite the fact that she was soaking wet – out of the murky water inside by hooking his hands under her arms, pulling her up and against him, then yanking her the rest of the way up as hard as he could, as quickly as he could, until she was clear of the tank. Walter grabbed her legs and helped ensure that Peter was able to get her safely down to the ground. Peter could only hope that he wasn't hurting her, as tightly as he was holding onto her and as quickly as he was moving.

Olivia was only slowly becoming aware of her body again, and was vaguely conscious of having been yanked out of the tank. She lay gasping and choking on the floor, trying to catch her breath. The world around her had yet to come back into focus. She knew that she was out of the tank, but everything was spinning, tipping violently from one side to another without warning.

 _I saw him_ , her mind shrieked in disbelief as she struggled for breath. It was the only thing that mattered. Walter's crazy idea had _worked_! She wasn't yet aware of what was going on around her, only that she was no longer in John Scott's mind. There were hands lowering her to a towel laid out on the cold floor of the lab, carefully but hurriedly placing her down so that she could be checked for signs of distress.

 _Peter._ Somehow she just knew, even though she had yet to focus on any of the faces in the room. Though she wasn't quite sure why, she relaxed ever so slightly, knowing that he was there. It didn't make sense – knowing what she knew about his history, and the fact that he was basically a stranger to her, as well as the fact that she was practically naked and completely helpless at that particular moment, so that he could literally have taken advantage of her in any way he wanted to… but for whatever reason, she felt safe with him.

On the other side of her she felt a prick against her skin, and the slight sensation of something being injected into her bloodstream. That would be Walter, she knew, giving her whatever drug she needed in order to fully regain consciousness. She wondered fleetingly how long the drugs he'd given her earlier would remain in her system, because she needed to be clearheaded as soon as possible.

As the familiar faces and voices around her slowly became clearer, she turned toward Walter. Though he still looked slightly fuzzy, she was desperate to tell him that it had worked. After all, there was no time to lose. Now that she could ID the man who'd been responsible for the accident and for John's condition, they could actually do something about it – something that would save him.

"I saw him!" she gasped, a mixture of disorientation, relief and adrenaline rushing through her system as she pulled herself up to a half sitting position. Walter still hadn't quite come into focus in front of her yet, and pulling herself towards him had made her slightly dizzy. She pushed through it, however, her desire to help John trumping everything else, including her own well-being – as usual.

 _I'm fine_ , insisted the voice in her head loud and clear – just as it always did.

Peter watched as Olivia pulled herself shakily toward Walter, most of the way up to a sitting position, her movements sudden and unpredictable. As she did, he unconsciously raised his hand until it nearly touched her back, stopping when there remained barely any air between the two but not quite touching her. His hand hovered there in midair, just behind her back, looking almost as if it was connected to her by a string that held it just a fraction of an inch from her pale skin. If her sudden burst of strength gave out and she toppled backwards, he would've caught her before she could have fallen backwards and hit the floor.

Walter was crouched in front of Olivia on the ground and when she lunged toward him unsteadily, in her haste to tell him what she'd seen. Though he was caught off guard, he managed to catch hold of her in a loose sort of embrace. Since she was still unsteady at best, it seemed wise to keep a grip on her for at least a few minutes. The look on her face was desperate as she grabbed the front of his shirt, holding onto it surprisingly tightly in her fists.

Olivia's hands were clamped onto Walter's shirt in a vice-like grip, as she attempted to stop the wave of dizziness that had suddenly taken hold of her. She tried to ignore it as she told the man in front of her, "I saw John get hurt! I was there! I was there, I saw him…" The hint of panic and desperation in her voice seemed completely appropriate to both Bishops, considering what she'd just been through. Still, everyone was slightly stunned by the fact that, according to Olivia, it had worked.

Without his realizing it, Peter's hand had moved higher as she'd pulled herself toward Walter, keeping her within his reach. His hand was now cupped gently behind her head, making contact for the first time. Her wet hair was chilly against his skin, but he didn't notice. For some reason he couldn't explain, he suddenly felt like it was important to keep this contact with her, even though it increasingly seemed unnecessary as the seconds ticked by and she slowly regained her balance.

As he watched her there in front of him, back from her strange trip into her partner's mind, his relief that she seemed to have survived the whole insane ordeal unscathed grew stronger. He felt the tension that had built up in him the entire time she'd been in the trance like state in the tank abating, as if he was letting go of a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

His eyes went to Walter's, whose own expression was one of disbelief and awe at Olivia's words. Peter's hand moved away from her head momentarily, withdrawing self-consciously after only just then realizing that it had been there. A few seconds later, however, as she leaned back slowly, he replaced his hand behind her head again, more concerned with her well-being than with his momentary feeling of awkwardness.

While there was something reassuring about seeing her there in front of him, somehow it wasn't enough at that moment. After all, it appeared that Olivia had been able to _see_ and interact with John Scott, and he was in a coma. Seeing something didn't necessarily make it real, as strange as that sounded when he said it over and over in his mind. Maybe for that reason, the tactile reassurance that she was actually there and okay was even important to him at that moment. He'd never needed that before – he'd been the type who believed what he saw happening in front of him – at least as far back as he could remember. _There must be a scientific reason for this compulsion_ , he thought, but that would be a mystery for another day.

Walter began to lower Olivia back down gently towards the towel, now soaking wet, that had been laid down on the floor in preparation for the procedure. Being the fighter that she was, of course, she attempted to hold herself up, but was too weak to do so quite yet.

She'd been sitting up, desperately clutching at Walter as she tried to tell him what she'd seen, and then, what little energy she had having been used up, mixed with the adrenaline of waking up and knowing that she'd seen the man's face, she had collapsed back toward the floor. Two distinct sets of hands were supporting her. Walter's, the skin on his hands feeling like small cushions formed by the softness of age. And Peter's, stronger than she would have expected, firm, and… what was it? It was almost as if his hands gave off a slight charge of some kind, as if somehow emotion actually flowed through them into her skin.

 _That's insane,_ she told herself. _I must still have drugs in my system._ Except that she swore that the sensation was real, and it was confusing and comforting all at once.

She didn't want to lay back, and she struggled to keep her head up off the floor, even though it made her continue to choke, as she was still trying to catch her breath. She knew deep down that she was being stubborn, but as usual, it was impossible for her to completely surrender control to someone else.

For once, _Walter_ was following _Peter_ 's lead – the older Bishop could concede that his son was more of an expert when it came to anything that was not _strictly_ scientific – and more specifically, to Olivia, for some reason. So because she was fighting it and their goal was to calm her down, instead of lowering her the rest of the way to the floor right away, they held onto her for a minute longer. Peter could somehow sense her relaxing slightly because of this, which in turn allowed her to focus on trying to breathe.

The two Bishops supported her head and neck under their hands just a few inches off the ground as she continued gasping desperately for breath. Peter regarded her with concern, uneasy about the fact that it was taking so long for her breathing to stabilize. He had the feeling that he shouldn't let go of her yet, which was fine with him.

After several tense minutes of Olivia's ragged breathing, she finally relaxed and was able to breathe normally. She felt the men beside her gradually easing their grip on her and letting go, which immediately caused her to stiffen. Still not content to lay back against the towel under her, she pushed herself up against her elbows, finally holding up her own weight. Peter remained sitting on the floor with her, scooting forward slightly and then turning in her direction, so that he was sitting beside her instead of slightly behind her, as Walter stood up to go and take readings. From there, Olivia began pushing herself up to a sitting position almost immediately.

Peter quickly put his hand on her arm, firmly and yet at the same time surprisingly gently, momentarily slowing her down so that she didn't try to get up any farther. Looking at him quickly, in confusion, her eyes asked the question. _What are you doing?_

"Easy there," he told her. "Just… sit and catch your breath for a second." It would be just like her to jump up and try to get right back to work. Of course, Olivia didn't take kindly to being told to do anything slowly – she never had, as Peter had already noticed – so his words were met with a hint of a scowl.

On anyone else's face, this expression might have seemed unfriendly, but coming from Olivia, he somehow found it endearing. He couldn't help but smile slightly at her, though he tried to stifle it, knowing that it would only anger her further. As he had predicted, the look on his face only increased her irritation, along with the fact that his hand was still on her arm - though she could certainly have removed it if she'd wanted to. Even _more_ annoying – she didn't want to. The sensation was somehow actually comforting. She wanted to shrug it off of her, yet at the same time… she didn't.

"I'm _fine_ ," she insisted in a sharp, raspy breath that suggested that she was anything _but_ fine.

Without a word, Peter dropped his hand from her arm and turned quickly to reach for a thick towel that Astrid had set on the floor behind him, turning back around and opening it for her. She was, after all, sitting in front of him soaking wet, in her underwear. Even more important than any modesty issues, she was most likely freezing.

"Are you okay?" he asked her quietly as he carefully wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Never mind the fact that she had just insisted rather brusquely that she was fine. He wasn't buying it, and he was pretty sure that she knew it. It seemed strange that they'd only known each other for a few days, and yet already seemed to be able to communicate certain things without words. Or maybe it wasn't communication, as much as just… understanding. She sighed, but didn't answer, just staring into space as her thoughts raced. She didn't seem especially fine to him.

She heard herself telling him that she was fine – it was almost like an involuntary reaction, something that she just did without thinking about it. She did it pretty often, actually… insisted that she was fine when she was anything but. _What on Earth possessed me to say that?_ she wondered. _He doesn't believe me anyway._ That much was obvious from the fact that he asked her if she was okay almost immediately after her declaration. _Besides, he know what it looks like when you lie_ , she told herself. _That's his thing, remember? Reading people?_ Her thoughts were so jumbled together, she didn't respond to his question, just continued staring past him.

He looked at her closely, inspecting her face for any sign of distress that the information being gathered by the sensors on her stomach and temples – all still attached to her for the time being – may not have included. Walter was staring intently at the screen in front of him, not far away. It was likely that he was still monitoring the data that the sensors were gathering, so Peter didn't begin to remove them quite yet.

Olivia looked a little bit dazed, and she hadn't moved to pull the towel any tighter around her. Since Peter had let go of it, it had hung limply off of her shoulders, and was now beginning to slide off of her arms. Her eyes darted around the room, coming to rest on him for a second before continuing on, not seeming to actually focus on anything. He couldn't tell what she was looking for, if anything in particular.

"Olivia?" he asked her, a little more loudly. She still didn't seem as though she'd even heard him. It appeared that she was lost in her thoughts… or at least, that's what Peter was _hoping._ The alternative, of course, was that the procedure that she'd just undergone had caused some sort of unforeseen side effect. Finally giving up on waiting for her to pull the towel around herself and dry off a little, he decided that getting her warmed up was more important that worrying about what she thought about accepting his help. He tugged on both sides of the towel until they were tightly around her shoulders again, holding the ends in front of her and leaning towards her slightly in yet another attempt to get through to her. "Olivia?" he asked again, slightly louder still, beginning to be concerned.

She finally focused on him then, looking at him in confusion as he seemed to appear out of nowhere only inches from her face, for a few seconds before answering.

"Yeah?" she replied weakly.

"Are you okay?" To his relief, the hostility that had been on her face the last time she'd spoken had dissipated, giving way to an expression that would still not quite be considered friendly, but certainly less hostile.

Pausing as if she was thinking about her answer, she finally replied. "Yeah…" she said, shivering slightly. He glanced down at the skin on her legs, seeing goosebumps appear up and down them.

"You're freezing," he told her unnecessarily. Without giving it a second thought, he leaned closer to her and began rubbing his hands up and down her towel-covered arms to create friction and therefore, heat. He continued the action for several minutes before even realizing that he was doing it, at which point he stopped abruptly, sitting back from her and looking slightly embarrassed.

 _What was that?_ he wondered. He glanced back at her and saw her looking down at her hands, which sat clasped together in her lap, a slightly amused expression pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Thanks," she told him simply, making no other comment. Peter's most recent behavior hadn't seemed like the world traveling, cynical con man with no loyalties to anyone else that she'd met in Iraq earlier that week. No, this Peter seemed more like a guy who actually gave a damn. That was exactly the danger, she supposed – that he was just that good at conning people, herself included, and could therefore be absolutely believable as the trustworthy guy, when in fact he was anything but.

And yet, he hadn't even tried to pass himself off as a nice guy once she'd used her leverage on him, back in Baghdad. It was as though the fact that the "good" side of him showed through sometimes was merely an accident that he preferred to avoid, as if he was actually embarrassed when she glimpsed that side of him. She wondered if he was aware of the paradox he was presenting. It was almost as though the more human side of him came out despite his best efforts.

 _Thanks?_ he wondered. _What is she thanking me for? For the concern? For the towel? For trying to warm her up? For all of it? Or for something else entirely?_

 _Focus, Bishop_ , the more serious voice in his head reminded him.

"Hey, Walter," he called to the older man, who still stood staring at the monitor in front of him. "can I take the sensors off of her now?" Peter used the change in focus to try to pretend that he hadn't just been fussing over Olivia quite as much as he had for the past few minutes. Knowing how she seemed to hate being the center of attention, he was almost sure it was making her uncomfortable. Besides that, now that he'd realized he had been doing it, _he_ was beyond uncomfortable, as well.

He honestly didn't know what had come over him. It certainly wasn't like him to… no, that wasn't entirely true. It wasn't **un** like him to act charmingly towards a beautiful woman. He actually acted that way quite a bit, depending on what the situation called for. He'd been accused of being a ladies' man, and he couldn't exactly deny that. It was just another part of the way he was good with most people in general. However, what he realized about his actions in the minutes since she'd come out of the tank – or if he was being honest, since even before she'd gone _into_ the tank – was that it _wasn't_ an act. This could only mean one thing that he could think of – that that was actual concern he was showing, not just an imitation. How exactly should he interpret _that_?

"Just another few minutes, Peter," Walter replied. Peter sighed, looking apologetically at Olivia and shrugging. She looked annoyed, as well as exhausted, and very cold.

Peter watched her as she started to shiver more noticeably, then turned and reached behind him for another towel, which he spread out over the top of her legs, tucking the sides in beneath her. She tried to smile, though it came across as more of a grimace, but she continued shivering.

 _Oh, to hell with it,_ he thought, scooting closer to her and leaning forward, slightly closer than he'd been the first time, until his crossed legs pressed against her now towel-covered left leg. He pulled the towel that was around her shoulders tight behind her back and then began to rub up and down on her arms over the towel once again. He saw her open her mouth to protest, but it must have helped with the cold, because she seemed to change her mind, closing her mouth before any sound came out. Instead, she gave him a self-conscious half smile and then looked away.

"Anytime today, Walter," Peter called to his father in annoyance. _How long did he expect her to sit here soaking wet and freezing?_

"What?" Walter asked absently, seeming to forget what Peter was talking about. "Oh, yes. Just another minute or so."

Deciding to be prepared for the all clear from Walter, Peter turned back to Olivia. "Did you bring something to change into?" he asked her.

"Yeah, I… my bag is over there," she said, still seeming slightly disoriented as she turned and indicated somewhere at the other end of the lab with her head. He saw her wince as if the movement had been a little too much, too soon.

She hoped that he hadn't seen the pain that had raced across her face for a split second, since he was already fussing over her more than she was comfortable with, but she could see from a flash of concern in his eyes that he had. This new Peter was a little overwhelming… but at least he seemed less sarcastic.

"Okay, I'll get it," he said, starting to get up. Stopping halfway up, however, he looked back at her and added, "You're still hooked up, so stay here, okay? I'm serious." From the look on his face, she could see that he meant it. "You don't wanna mess up… whatever he's doing over there." Peter glanced over at Walter, who was leaning into the monitor and humming what Peter was fairly sure was an old show tune. "Besides, you still need to take it easy." He saw the look of exasperation flash in her eyes for a second, but then it was gone. She sighed heavily and nodded, resignation evident in her face.

"Fine," she told him through gritted teeth. This was obviously not easy for her – sitting still and allowing anyone else to do even the smallest thing for her. He got up the rest of the way and walked across the lab, looking for a bag that might belong to Olivia. After a few minutes he located a small, black duffle bag, sitting on the floor under a table. Simple and functional, nothing fancy. It seemed exactly like something she would have.

"This it?" he asked, holding it up. She sat up a little straighter and craned her neck – slowly this time – to look in his direction before nodding.

"That's it," she affirmed. Before he had walked back over to where she sat, she was pushing herself off the floor. Sighing, he knew that he shouldn't be surprised. Shaking his head as he quickly took the last few steps toward her, he saw that she had made it halfway to her feet.

"This is _don't get up_?" he asked her, his face serious but his tone teasing.

"I'm _fine_ ," she insisted again, though the defiant look on her face told him that she knew she'd been caught, and dared him to say something about it.

 _She just doesn't ever let up_ , he thought as he watched her in amusement. She was standing, but holding onto the back of a chair to keep her balance.

She probably should have rested for another few minutes before getting up, but there'd be no telling her that any more than he got the feeling that anyone could tell her _anything_ when her mind was made up. He glanced down at the sensors on her stomach and all of the wires that ran from them. He stopped a foot away from her, crossing his arms and smirking at her, shaking his head.

"That's not really the issue at this moment," he reminded her, "but I'm glad you _think_ you're fine." From his tone, she could feel that he was teasing her again.

She glared at him for smiling at her in amusement. In response, he held up his hand to remind her to stay where she was. Just then, Walter called, "Alright, son, you may remove the sensors from Agent Dunham."

Peter took a hesitant step closer to her, looking first into her eyes and then at his target as he reached slowly toward one of the sensors on her temples. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought that the look on his face was asking her for permission to be that close. Olivia had almost forgotten that the sensors were there, and for a second she wondered what he was doing, remembering just in time to stop herself from ducking her head away from his hand. He pried off the first sensor slowly, gently working the suction cup loose from her skin and transferring the small piece of rubber to his left hand. Before he moved to her other side to remove the sensor from her other temple, he paused directly in front of her, looking her in the eyes as if searching for the answer to a question he had yet to ask. Finally he did ask her, unsurely, "That didn't hurt, right?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, it's fine," she assured him. Truthfully, she had the urge to pull them all off herself all at once in one quick _yank_ , but she managed to force herself to stay still and wait, albeit impatiently. It seemed like he moved in slow motion by comparison, as he stepped to the other side of her and worked the sensor free from her other temple. She wanted to snap at him that he didn't have to be so damn _gentle_ , that he could just pull the damn thing off, but something stopped her. _He's just being considerate,_ she reminded herself, wondering where the sudden annoyance had come from.

Stepping to the side and depositing the two sensors from her temples on the counter by the computer workstation against the wall, Peter then returned to begin removing the ones from her stomach. He crouched down in front of her, his legs bent at the knees, but found the angle less than ideal, especially since there were quite a few sensors on that part of her body. His knees protested loudly at the idea of remaining crouched over for long enough to remove all of the remaining sensors. With a sigh, he shifted so that instead of crouching, he was now kneeling in front of her, bringing him more comfortably in line with her stomach, and the sensors he had to remove.

Glancing up at her from that angle, however, he suddenly felt slightly awkward. Whether or not he was, he _felt_ much closer to her from that angle. At the same time, she glanced down and her eyes met his for a second, and then they both quickly looked away. She was about as uncomfortable with this part of the process as she could be, and she tensed in anticipation of his hands making contact with her skin. She was only now becoming conscious of the fact that she was standing in front of Peter wearing almost nothing and soaking wet. As much as she didn't worry that he would do anything to harm her, it was a pretty damn vulnerable position to have put herself in… and she did _not_ like to be vulnerable. For some reason, there was a big difference between her comfort level with him removing the sensors from her temples and with him doing exactly the same thing on her stomach.

As he carefully pried the sensors off of her skin, one by one, with his right hand, he spread the fingers of his left hand and ever so slightly and held them against the left side of her lower back, as if to anchor her in place while he worked. Though the touch was slight – barely there at all, in fact – it was as though there were neon signs pointing it out in her brain.

She bit her lip and had to concentrate much harder than she had expected in order to stay still, wanting desperately to squirm away. The slight movements of the fingers on his right hand, conversely, reminded her for the first time in a very long time of just how ticklish she was. If he didn't hurry up and finish getting those sensors off of her, she was sure that she was going to lose control and burst out laughing. She felt the urge to punch him, or at least to step out of his reach.

He glanced up at her after setting the second sensor from her stomach on the floor and noticed the expression on her face, wondering if he was right about her ticklishness. His eyes flicked back down to his work for a few seconds, but as the fingers of his right hand pressed against her skin around the third sensor, he glanced back up at her, feeling movement in the muscles below his fingers, of which he'd already guessed the cause.

"Ticklish?" he asked her with interest, raising one eyebrow playfully. Holding still under his touch was almost impossible for her now, but she was determined not to admit this particular weakness… despite the fact that she was probably the only one who saw being ticklish as a _weakness_.

"Nope," she replied, obviously lying. Peter chuckled and shook his head, saying nothing.

"You got something to say, Bishop?" she asked him in mock annoyance. He attempted to hold back the smile that was slowly taking over his face as he "accidentally" moved his fingers across the skin of her stomach, watching to see if he could make her admit her lie, or at least make her laugh. Her face changed as he did it, from what was a laugh that she was clearly working _very_ hard to hold in, to a knowing look that bordered on a scowl. It wasn't an angry one though, he could also see.

"Me? Not a thing," he said, finally getting on with the sensor removal, deciding to stop torturing Olivia – as much fun as it was.

"I _do_ have a gun, you know," she reminded him, then immediately looking annoyed with herself.

Peter knew exactly why she looked annoyed. Her gun, like her clothes, was far enough outside of her reach that it didn't do her any good at the moment. _Not_ that he thought she was seriously threatening to shoot him for tickling her… though he realized that it might be wise not to push his luck too much more.

"And if you have it on you right now, then I'm _truly_ impressed," he shot back confidently. Again, she scowled playfully at him. It crossed his mind that the idea of a playful scowl never would have occurred to him before, but that was exactly how he would describe the look on her face just then.

At a loss for a witty comeback, she ignored his remark. "Let's just get this over with, shall we?" she said brusquely, but he watched as she had to work hard to suppress an involuntary smile as his left hand slid an inch farther across her lower back. He moved on to the next sensor in line across her stomach, the fingers on his right hand once again moving just a little more than was necessary. He wasn't doing it on purpose… or at least that's what he kept telling himself.

"Stop it!" she finally barked when she couldn't take it anymore, swatting at his hand only somewhat playfully. He sat back on his heels, at least a foot now separating them, and looked up at her disapprovingly.

"Agent Dunham, I'm going to have to ask that you stand still so that I can finish my work here," he told her seriously, his face betraying nothing.

She narrowed her eyes at him, though he swore he saw a smile behind the annoyance, and hissed, "Just get it over with!" He had been fighting to bite back his own smile, and now it returned in full force. He sat forwards on his knees again, his hands resuming their positions, but was as careful as he could be to avoid tickling her, which he had, of course, been doing on purpose. He was pretty sure that he'd pushed her as far as he dared just then. Finishing his work, he set the sensors down and sat back to glance up at her once again.

"All finished," he declared. "You're officially disconnected." A shiver went down her spine, though she couldn't determine whether it was from the chill in the air or the sudden thought of what she had just disconnected herself from. _I was inside John's mind_ , she thought, her own mind suddenly racing. For a second she felt a little dizzy, and she turned so that she could hold on to the chair besides her with both hands as she closed her eyes and waited for the feeling to pass. Of course, he noticed immediately.

"Olivia?" He'd gotten to his feet and was now looking at her with concern, ready to catch her if she lost her balance.

"I'm _fine_ ," she replied through gritted teeth, her eyes still closed.

"Yeah, obviously," he said sarcastically, shaking his head. He wasn't sure what she was determined to prove, other than how stubborn she was. "Come on, sit down for a second."

She nodded her head without comment, but her eyes were still closed. He put one hand on one of her arms to steady her, then carefully removed her hands from the back of the chair, one at a time, with his other hand, holding on to each one lightly between his thumb and his middle finger for a split second before releasing it. She appeared to lose her balance then, for a second, despite the fact that he was holding onto her arm with his other hand. He leaned closer to her so that she if she leaned too far to one side, she'd lean into him, and slipped his arm from her arm to her back, still covered by the towel, his hand coming to rest gently near the base of her neck. She stiffened slightly, but didn't move away.

Now that she was no longer gripping the chair, he used his other hand to carefully turn it towards her. Still, she hadn't opened her eyes. "There. Now _sit_." Her eyes peeked open just enough to see where he wanted her to sit, and he lowered her into the chair, not letting go of her until she was sitting down securely.

"Just… _sit_ for a second, alright? I'll be right back," he told her, walking quickly to the refrigerator to get her some water. He figured that the chances of her remaining in the chair were about 40% at best, as stubborn as she was. When he returned from the refrigerator with a bottle of water, her eyes were open and, as predicted, she had just started to push herself out of the chair. He watched as she slumped back down when she saw him, looking highly annoyed.

He was a little bit annoyed himself. "Would you just let me help you for once? Or are you… _fine_?" he asked, holding out the bottle of water to her. She scowled at him, exhaling loudly in frustration and folding her arms across her chest. She stared at him for a long minute, even more frustrated by the hint of a smile on his face. Finally she relented, relaxed her arms and took the water bottle with a nod, momentarily unable to make herself say anything civil to him in her annoyance with herself. She hated not being in control. What was worse, she had finally realized how cold she felt, and was beginning to shiver all over. She knew that she needed to get dressed, but she couldn't even stand _up_. She needed his help, and it pissed her off more than anything else she could imagine at that moment. Glaring at him once more, she took a sip of the water and tried to calm down.

He could see that she'd had just about enough, and he could tell that the woman in front of him who was so accustomed to being in control was becoming increasingly frustrated with her temporarily weakened state. From the way she'd started shivering in the past few minutes, she was also in need of those dry clothes. He wondered if she would accept his help anytime soon, or if he'd have to force it on her. Watching her carefully, he tried to project calm, instead of the playfulness that he knew usually radiated from him, especially when he was around her. She just seemed to get his humor – even when she appeared to hate it – and it only made him want to tease her more. He knew, however, that this was not the time.

Olivia watched as the laughter in Peter's eyes was replaced by concern. She expected him to say something sarcastic, like he usually did, but instead he put the strap of her bag over his shoulder and then stepped forward, leaning down to put his arm around her and helped her the rest of the way up. "Come on," he mumbled soothingly, "time to get dressed." She wasn't sure exactly what he had in mind, but told her mind not to skip ahead and worry about it. There was no way in _hell_ she was accepting help with that, and she hoped that he wasn't going to dare to suggest it.

Back in the present, she forced herself to take a tentative step forward, trying to step away from him and prove that she was _just fine_ , thank you. The only problem was that she wobbled as she tried to disengage herself from the arm he had wrapped around her back for support, and ended up falling back gently against him. She muttered something under her breath that he didn't catch, but that he was fairly sure was a curse word. Whatever she'd said, he knew that she was extremely agitated.

"Alright, I gotcha," he said, for once without a hint of teasing in his voice. "You'll be superwoman again in a little while. Right now just shut up and let me help you." He felt her snort quietly in annoyance, but it only made him smile again. There was something about Olivia Dunham that was so damn endearing, especially when she was being stubborn. "Besides," he added, "you'll feel better when you get into some dry clothes."

Together they walked slowly towards the door of the bathroom at the far end of the lab, taking a frustratingly long time to get there as far as Olivia was concerned – not that she could have gone any faster. Once there, he opened the door for her and pushed it all the way open, then took a step into the small room so that she could transfer her weight to lean against the sink. He set her bag down on the closed lid of the toilet so that she wouldn't have to bend down and pick it up. "Are you…" he started to ask, but stopped. There was no way she'd let him help her, and as soon as he realized it, he felt foolish for even starting to ask. He distinctly pictured her punching him in the face for even asking the question, for some reason.

Annoyance showed on her face, and she looked both mortified and simultaneously as though she was going to slap him any second, her eyes daring him to finish that question. "I'm _fine_ ," she insisted, a little more aggressively than she'd planned.

"I know, I know," he said, backing out of the room and closing the door. He sat on a stool in view of the bathroom door, curious as to how she'd do on her own when she came out. When she emerged a few minutes later, bag over her shoulder, the look on her face dared him to even think about approaching her as she walked out slowly.

"Don't you have some work to do, Bishop?" she asked him curtly.

"Indeed I do," he replied, standing up and watching her move slowly across the lab. She was noticeably steadier than she had been only a few minutes before, he noted. Finally satisfied that she wasn't going to collapse, he walked back over to check on Walter's progress, all the while keeping her in his view. There was a lot of work to be done.


	11. Concerned

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

Gradually, as he watched her in front of the glow of the screens beside Walter over the next little while, he was able to believe that she really was okay. There was still no way to know the effects of the drugs that may or may not still be in her system, of course, or how long it would be before they were gone completely – that was just one of the joys of working with Walter on one of his experiments, apparently.

But the color had returned to her face and she seemed less and less like she might fall over at any minute, and more and more like herself. Peter hadn't even really been conscious of how worried he'd been about her until he allowed himself to feel relieved that she was okay. It was confusing, because why exactly _did_ he care so much? He wouldn't be sticking around here much longer, anyway.

The longer Peter observed Walter, on the other hand, the more convinced he became that the man gave absolutely no thought to possible consequences of his actions. Did he know that the potential for harm to come to the subjects of his experiments existed? Yes… at least, in theory. But considering the risk that he'd been willing to take with Olivia's life – Olivia, who wasn't a stranger to him, even if he didn't know her _well_ , and a federal agent at that, not just some person off the street! – it didn't seem that any potential outcome of that experiment had bothered him enough to stop him from going through with it.

Peter shook his head at the pair of them. He worried because Walter's recklessness, combined with Olivia's apparent disregard for her own well-being when she saw a chance to help someone else, could be potentially hazardous. He tried to push the thought out of his mind, at least for the time being. Olivia was fine. Besides, either he or Astrid, if not both of them, was usually around the lab in addition to Walter and Olivia, anyway.

 _Why exactly are you even thinking about this? You have no claim to her_ , he reminded himself as he wandered slowly around the large console to stand behind them so that he could look over their shoulders to see what they were concentrating on so intently. But it wasn't that at all. He didn't want to _claim_ her, he wanted to _protect_ her.

No, maybe that was the wrong word, too. She certainly didn't need anyone to physically defend her. After all, she was a fully trained Federal Agent. She was probably the more capable of the two of them when it came to self-defense, given her FBI training, and she was the one with a gun. He hadn't seen her in action as of yet, but he got the feeling that she could probably handle herself in a fight, and that her looks most likely worked in her favor. After all, most people would assume that the pretty blonde wasn't a threat.

So no, she didn't need protecting – except maybe from herself. There was just something about the fact that she would do just about anything to help anyone else, with no regard whatsoever for herself, that made him feel like _someone_ should be looking out for _her._ Not watching her, because that just sounded creepy, but _watching out_ for her. It was only fair, after all.

As far as he could tell, she seemed to prefer to keep people at arms' length, and he was willing to bet that this tendency extended beyond the very small circle of people he'd seen her interact with. He recognized this preference because he had the same habit. In between their sarcastic jabs at each other, they had actually talked, and he felt like he'd seen glimpses of the Olivia Dunham beneath the Agent Dunham façade. They barely knew each other, and yet there was some kind of connection between them.

 _You know that you're probably_ _ **way**_ _overthinking this, right?_ he asked himself.

As he stood behind Walter and Olivia and listened to Walter drone on about brain waves, asking Olivia questions about what she'd experienced, Peter felt his attention wander. He wasn't there to absorb the details, anyway, only to babysit his father. There was no real need to listen carefully, though he was mildly curious about this crazy procedure they'd just completed. He watched Olivia, who seemed to be growing increasingly impatient with Walter's explanations. Peter wondered how much longer she could hold out, and whether he should intervene. She was probably far too polite to interrupt him unless absolutely necessary.

The shrill sound of Olivia's cell phone echoed through the lab, and she reached into her pocket to retrieve it. If he didn't know better, he would've said that he sigh that escaped her betrayed her relief for the interruption. "Dunham," she said evenly when she answered. "Yes, sir," he heard her say.

 _Broyles. Checking up on his agent over here at the crazy house… as well he should._

"I need to get to headquarters and speak to a sketch artist," she said, replacing her phone in her pocket. "And I need to brief Broyles," she added, glancing first at Walter, then at Peter.

"Let me drive you over there," Peter volunteered quickly. Any excuse to get out of the lab for a little while was a welcome one, and he still wasn't sure about the issue of the drugs in her system, no matter how much better she seemed.

Olivia appeared slightly surprised at the idea, glancing at him in confusion.

"You shouldn't drive when there could still be drugs in your system," he added. "After all, it wasn't too long ago that _someone_ pumped you with a hell of a lot of drugs," he said, giving Walter a brief but menacing glance. Walter was oblivious, but Olivia's eyes followed Peter's to his father before the two looked back at each other. A look of frustration came over her face then, as she realized that she didn't have a reasonable argument against what he'd said.

"I'm _fine_ ," she insisted, frowning and shaking her head slightly. She knew that it wasn't a reasonable argument, but it was all she had. Besides, she _was_ fine.

Somehow, the fact that she worked so hard to insist that she didn't need anyone made her that much more fascinating to him. It almost seemed like a challenge to get through to her, and Peter was always up for a challenge – that may have been a product of the fact that so many things came easy to him. But that was even crazier because who the hell was _he,_ to try to be something stable or reassuring or whatever it was that he found himself wanting to be around Olivia? A con man who never stayed in one place for more than a few weeks wasn't exactly the first person you'd be likely to trust to restore your faith in people.

No, he didn't have much of a track record of honestly or sincerity… but he found that he wanted to try to be that person anyway. After all, he found himself talking to her more honestly than he could remember being with anyone else in a long time, at least when they weren't verbally sparring with each other. For him, that was a big deal.

He raised his eyebrows at her and made a face, and saw her expression adjust defiantly. _God, but she was stubborn._

"Olivia…" Exasperation was creeping into his voice, which sounded a little more like a growl that usual. He looked at Walter out of the corner of his eye, and saw him watching the two of them with great interest. She didn't look away, but instead met his eyes with determination. Peter decided to change his tactic slightly. Without looking away from Olivia, he said, "Walter, can you say for certain how long it takes for the drugs you gave Olivia to leave her system completely?"

"Oh, well, I, uh… let me think…" Walter sputtered, caught off guard at being pulled into the conversation. Peter continued to look Olivia in the eye, noticing that she hadn't looked away either. It was like a kids' staring contest, just more intense. Walter was oblivious to the mounting tension, as usual, and continued to make small noises as he considered the question. "Well, I should think, I mean to say that it's quite likely… that is to say…"

Peter was trying hard not to interrupt his father's ramblings, and the only reason he managed to contain his growing impatience was because he knew that the answer would vindicate his argument.

Finally, Walter stopped babbling, saying, "I'm sorry, Peter, I really can't be sure… I would say that by tomorrow we could be _fairly_ certain that her system would be clean, though even then, we should be alert for signs of distress…" Though his argument was supported by Walter's unconscious support, Peter resisted the urge to clench his hands into fists at the thought that Walter had so easily injected Olivia with drugs of such an unpredictable nature. Never mind that she had insisted that he do it. But it was done, so there was nothing they could do about it now.

He and Olivia were still locked in a fierce eye contact, each looking at the other in defiance, and now Olivia's expression morphed into more of a scowl. "Fine," she conceded. "I'm ready to go now." Only then did she break eye contact with him, turning around quickly and walking towards the door without another word. She pulled her wet hair back and secured it with an elastic as she went.

"Thanks, Walter. I'll be back in a little while. Have Astrid call me if you need anything," he called as he followed Olivia towards the door.

Astrid looked up from the desk nearby, where she sat working on something that Peter hadn't noticed until then. "We'll be fine, Peter. See you later," she called.

"Thanks, Astrid," Peter replied as he nodded at the other agent and pulled the door to the lab closed behind him, following Olivia quickly through the corridors of the Kresge building. He could tell that she was extremely agitated, and her rapid pace reflected this.

Shaking his head at her, he jogged down the hall, dodging several confused looking students who were more than likely late for class. He caught up with her just outside the door that led to the quad, and managed to almost match her quick pace down the stairs. He could see that she was anything but pleased.

They reached her car – one of the perks of being with the FBI was a parking spot just outside the building, which most students would have sold their souls to get – and she headed for the driver's side without thinking. He noticed this as well, but said nothing, figuring that it would only be a few seconds before she realized it on her own. When she did, instead of continuing around the car to the other side, she spun quickly around, thinking that she'd simply retrace her steps. In doing so, she nearly collided with Peter, who by that time was right behind her, since he was also making his way to the driver's side.

He reacted first, his hands flying up involuntarily to keep her from falling over, catching her with both hands just above her elbows. "Woah!" he exclaimed in surprise.

She blushed slightly, flustered, taking a step back as his hands released her and dropped his hands back to his sides. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I'm kinda used to driving."

Peter just chuckled. He was pretty sure that driving was only the tip of the iceberg. She'd already been frustrated that she'd needed his help to stand up and walk back at the lab, after all. It seemed that she was used to being in control, period, and that this driving arrangement was already making her anxious before they were even in the car. He knew that it was wrong of him, but it was kind of fun to watch her squirm. "Yeah, so I gather," he smiled.

Momentarily avoiding eye contact with him, she jammed her hand in her pocket and pulled out her keys, then held them out to him silently. _Why did I agree to this?_ she wondered. He felt bad for her then, because she was looking increasingly miserable. His expression softened as he took a step forward and took the keys from her slowly. She looked at the ground, walking past him and around to the passenger side of the car as he clicked the keyfab to unlock the doors, then got in and adjusted the seat.

The interior of the car was very… Olivia. In other words, it was immaculate – not a piece of trash or dirt to be seen. The _only_ thing she'd left in the car was a to-go coffee mug, which wasn't a surprise. In short, it was exactly the opposite of what he'd recently gotten accustomed to dealing with thanks to Walter – though the man certainly also had his strange compulsions when it came to both cleaning and organizing.

 _He's moving my seat_ , she thought in irritation, as she next watched him adjusting the mirrors. She knew that she was being irrational, and that both of these things came with agreeing to let him drive her car. And of course, both could easily be undone when _she_ was next in the driver's seat – but at that moment she kind of hated him. Who the hell was he to tell her that she wasn't okay to drive, anyway? She was **perfectly fine**! Okay, there was no way to know for sure about the drugs in her system… which the rational part of her could accept, and that was the _only_ reason she'd grudgingly agreed to this arrangement. But that didn't mean that she had to like it.

Olivia stared sullenly out the passenger side window, her arms crossed across her chest. It occurred to her that she was acting like a moody teenager at the moment, but this thought only served to annoy her more. Why did Peter have to be so… irritatingly, obnoxiously protective? Why the hell did he care so much?

Peter tried to think of something he could say that wouldn't induce her to bite his head off, and it took a while. He finally settled on work. "So… you really think you can ID the guy based on a… vision?"

She didn't miss the skepticism in his voice, but she couldn't fault him for _that,_ at least. After all, it _was_ crazy.

"It just seems…" he raised his eyebrows questioningly, for once at a loss for the right word. The tension in her face slowly began to release as she was distracted from her frustration by his words.

"Crazy?" she replied, her scowl slowly morphing into a slight grin as she finished his sentence. "Yeah, apparently that's the new normal for us."

He chuckled again, weaving through the streets toward the Federal Building. She looked like she was thinking about something, at least from what he could see of her face in his peripheral vision, but he waited to see if it was something she wanted to talk about. Now that the silence between them was no longer hostile, the atmosphere in the car was much more pleasant. After a minute of silence, he decided that she wasn't going to bring up whatever was on her mind, at least not just then.

"Seems like that's destined to be our 'thing,'" he replied, nodding his head. She rolled her eyes and groaned slightly, but not in a way that sounded like she actually meant it. It was strange – no, it was _insane_ – how each of them were taking the things they'd seen so far in stride. Any normal people would have panicked over what they'd been through already. And yet, the four of them had each seemed to accept "crazy" as the modus operandi of the team.

They pulled into the parking garage of the Federal Building, where Peter quickly found a parking spot and shut off the car. Olivia's immediate reaction was to reach for the door handle, eager to get on with what needed to be done. As she pushed the door open, she head the keys jingle as Peter pulled them out of the ignition and got out as well. As they stood looking at each other across the top of the car, Olivia suddenly saw her keys sailing in her direction. Peter had tossed them to her, and they came down in a perfect arc. Her hand came up quickly and grabbed them without hesitation, as if they'd rehearsed it.

"Good catch," Peter told her, looking impressed. Clearly her reflexes were at least mostly recovered. "Maybe you _were_ okay to drive after all…" His eyes shone mischievously. Olivia opened her mouth to reply, but found herself too surprised by his comment to say anything.

 _Wait, so why the hell did he just put me through that?_

He hit the _door lock_ button on the inside of his door, then stepped back and pushed it closed, just hard enough that it latched securely. Still surprised by what he'd just said, she did the same – albeit distractedly. "I'll see you later," he told her, starting to turn to leave.

"Wait. You're…?" She stood and looked at him, confused. It was true that he didn't need to accompany her into the building. She wasn't really sure _what_ she'd expected him to do. Her thoughts hadn't really extended to what he would do once they'd arrived. After all, _he_ was the one who'd insisted on driving her here.

"Yeah. I'm going back to the lab," he told her matter-of-factly. She glanced at the car, then back up at him in surprise and confusion, unable to comprehend what he was saying at first.

"The bus does go to Harvard, you know. It's fine. I've done it many, many times. Trust me," he told her.

She was still staring at him hard, feeling like she should say something, but she was at a loss for words. _He'd driven her over here just to turn around and go back?_ Of course, she hadn't expected him to stay and hang out with her while she worked, she just hadn't given any thought at all to what he was going to do besides drive her there. She'd been too annoyed with him.

 _Is it really that hard to understand that he wanted to do something nice? That he just wanted to make sure you got here safely?_ the voice in her head asked. She could feel him watching her carefully, probably not sure what to make of her sudden confusion.

"It's fine, Olivia, really. I'll see you later. Okay?" _Why did she look so stunned, as if she simply couldn't comprehend that someone did something nice for her?_ He felt momentarily the tiniest bit sorry for her, that she couldn't understand the smallest act of kindness towards her. He gave her a slight smile as they watched each other, still from across the top of the car. He could almost hear the wheels turning in her head. "Are you okay?" he asked, now slightly concerned that there might be something wrong besides just her surprise.

Olivia nodded her head quickly, forcing the daze to wear off. She just wasn't comfortable with people doing nice things for her, as strange as that sounded. No one besides Charlie or John or Rachel, anyway. "Yeah," she replied finally. "I'm fine." She forced a smile onto her face, knowing that it was probably obvious to him that it wasn't genuine. That didn't matter. "Thanks for the ride," she forced herself to say before looking away from him.

His smile widened, knowing that that was a forced thanks if ever he'd heard one. She'd wanted anything _but_ for him to drive her there, so thanking him for doing it had been something she'd undoubtedly forced herself to do. He kept watching her, thinking that she just might be the most interestingly complex person he'd ever met. "You're welcome," he said genuinely, waiting to see if she'd look back up at him. When she did, the look in her eyes was tentative, but after a few seconds of uncertainly, she smiled back at him.

"I'm glad you're okay. And I hope you find the guy who did it. So you can save John," Peter told her sincerely. She nodded, swallowing hard.

"Thanks," she said, her voice coming out just above a whisper.

"Call me if you need anything?" he asked. He was fairly sure she wouldn't, but it was worth a shot. He was pretty sure her stubbornness would get the best of her, but hey, you never knew.

"Yeah, okay," she agreed. _Probably not, but I appreciate the offer_ , she thought.

He nodded at her, and then turned and walked in the direction of the exit stairs at the other end of the ramp, disappearing through the doorway without a look back. When he was gone, she turned slowly and walked towards the elevator that would take her into the building.

To say that dealing with Peter was confusing was something of an understatement. He was incredibly irritating, but at the same time… she did appreciate his concern. She just wasn't _used_ to it. He was almost a complete stranger, and an incredibly irritating one half the time… so it was confusing that she felt like somehow, he understood her. It was unsettling and calming at the same time – because despite feeling like they had a connection, after all, he was a _con man_ by trade, so how could she really trust anything he said?

But somehow, despite her better judgement, she did. Was that a giant mistake? She couldn't help but wonder. She was generally a very good judge of character, but was he playing her the way she'd played him when they'd first met? The two possibilities – that either he was what he seemed, or that it was all a very convincing act, automatically made her anxious. She didn't doubt herself often, and she didn't like the feeling.

But thankfully, more immediate concerns demanded her attention, so she couldn't dwell on why Peter acted the way he did and how those actions affected her. Now that she'd made it back from the lab, there was a lot take care of: Besides meeting with Broyles, she needed to meet with the sketch artist and try to ID a suspect. Somehow, she had to try to remember something that would help her save John. Then hopefully, if they were lucky, there would be a lead to run down. And all of it had to be done before John's time ran out.

Her pace increased as she walked towards the elevator and her thoughts returned to the task at hand. She was back into work mode, and there was no time to waste. After all, John needed her.


	12. Empathy

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

Peter was sitting on the couch in front of the TV, eating Chinese take-out with Walter and Astrid, when his phone rang. Fishing it out of his pocket, he was surprised to see Olivia's name on the caller ID. She'd gone to New York to talk to Nina Sharp at Massive Dynamic, and he hadn't expected to hear from her so soon. To his surprise, he found that he was glad it was her name on his phone display.

 _Given the few people besides Olivia who you know in this area, most of the rest of whom are pretty dangerous, of course you're glad it's her,_ a voice reminded him. But while the voice wasn't wrong, he knew that it wasn't just that.

There was no time to dwell on it, however. Whatever the reason for her call, he wanted to be able to speak to her from a room where Walter was _not_ watching Sponge Bob and chuckling loudly with delight in the background. Not only that – as if that weren't already enough – Gene had been contributing a loud _moo_ at frequent intervals, apparently also voicing her amusement with the show.

While it might have seemed strange to someone unfamiliar with their lab that a cow was watching TV with them, it was really to be expected. After all, the couch was pushed up against the side of her pen for this exact purpose – so that Gene could enjoy whatever anyone else was watching on TV, as well. At that particular moment, Gene's head hovered squarely in the space between Astrid and Walter's shoulders, allowing her to view the cartoon with them. Walter had insisted on this arrangement, in fact, and the others had found logical arguments useless and had given in to the fact that they would be watching TV with a cow. After all, it wasn't even the strangest thing that had happened in that lab in the short time they'd been working there.

Peter pulled himself to stand up so that he could walk out of the room and talk to Olivia in peace. "Crazy house," he said matter-of-factly into the phone. Had Olivia been in the mood for jokes, she might have found this amusing. However, while his dry humor was slowly growing on her, this was not one of those times when she had time or energy for his jokes.

Olivia didn't bother with pleasantries, focused both on driving and on the case. "I've just landed at Logan. I'm on my way to you. I think we've located our suspect." Short and to the point, as was normal for her when she was in "work mode."

 _Not even a hello, huh?_ he mused briefly. Despite what someone else might have taken as her rudeness, Peter actually appreciated her approach, brusque though it was. After all, Peter knew that time was critical if John Scott was to be saved. Olivia wasn't the type to waste time trying to be polite when something important was on the line – though she didn't go out of her way to be _impolite_ , either – she had merely laid out the facts for him.

The style of business that Peter was accustomed to, if it could be called _business_ , had required a great deal more finesse, but he found her slightly abrasive approach both refreshing and fascinating. He supposed that when you weren't attempting to hide certain things from certain parties, you could be less concerned with rocking the boat, so to speak.

Peter hadn't even made it out of the room yet, and he stopped in surprise beside the old TV, Sponge Bob forgotten. "Hold on a second. You _found_ the guy?" _The guy you saw inside John Scott's mind?_ It was apparently not completely impossible, as he'd thought, after all. "You found the guy from your _dream_?" he added, unable to stop himself. It wasn't possible. …Except that _she'd done it._ Unbeknownst to him, this was only the first of many times that he would see her do the impossible.

She ignored his questions, as well as the fact that he called what she'd experienced "your dream." To be technical, it hadn't been hers, and it hadn't been a dream. He'd been there every step of the way, and really, he was a genius after all, so shouldn't he be able to pick up on the difference between a dream and a shared consciousness? Or was he just teasing her again? He had the annoying habit of thinking he was funny a lot more often than he actually was. But she didn't have time to think about that just then.

"I'm picking you both up. I need your father there to question him, get whatever information he needs to make the cure for John, and I need you there, too, in case your father's…" Olivia wasn't the kind of person to point out someone's faults unnecessarily. Being diplomatic when dealing with difficult people was part of her job, even if it was something she sometimes forgot in favor of getting answers. She let her sentence trail off, figuring that Peter was probably astute enough to figure out what she was saying.

At the other end of the line, Peter held up his hand as if to stop her mid-sentence, despite the fact that she wasn't physically there and couldn't see him do it. He knew exactly what she was trying to say. _In case Walter's acting like, well, Walter_ , _basically,_ in which case she would need someone to talk him down. _Not that I'm anywhere near an expert at dealing with Walter_ , he thought fleetingly.

Still, he knew at that moment that Olivia needed him, and despite the fact that she was practically a stranger, there was something about her that made him not want to let her down. He got the feeling that she only ever asked for help as a last resort, and he had a strange urge to prove himself trustworthy. But unlike the way he usually operated, he didn't just want to make her _believe_ that he was trustworthy. In the cons that he operated, the appearance that he could be trusted was enough.

But this wasn't a con, and for some reason he found that he actually wanted to _be_ that person – the one who could be counted on. Where _that_ desire came from was anyone's guess, considering his most recent occupation. He couldn't help but he reminded of something that his mother used to say to him… But instead of allowing himself to dwell on it, he shrugged off the confusion he felt. This was not the time to psychoanalyze himself, after all.

"Say no more," he told her quickly, "meet you out front." He ended the call and returned his phone to his pocket, watching Walter for just a second more before breaking the news to him. "Walter," Peter said, stepping in front of the TV so that his father's attention wouldn't be split between his son and a yellow sponge – especially since he was fairly sure that the sponge would be the one who'd win that contest. "That was Olivia. She found the guy responsible for the explosion, and she needs your help. She needs you to find out what the chemicals were that exploded so you can save Agent Scott. We need to get ready to go. _Now_."

Walter looked up at him in confusion for a second, only slowly processing what Peter had told him. "Now?" he asked, slightly exasperated. "Can't it wait until after this program is over?" He gestured at the TV with a fork full of fried rice that had been bound for his mouth. Because his fork had paused in mid-air while Walter had taken in the new information, he had of course forgotten all about it, consequently dropping said rice all over the floor as he waved his hand. Peter noticed in irritation that his father did not seem to notice the cascade from his fork, simply setting the now empty utensil back inside the takeout container to reload it.

Peter wasn't a neat freak, but he felt irrationally annoyed at the fact that Walter was dropping food all over the floor and not even noticing. It was just another way in which dealing with Walter was like dealing with a small child. Besides that, the man seemed to think that a cartoon sponge was more important than the case they had checked him out of St. Claire's to help with in the first place. These weren't issues you should have with an adult, least of all your own father. Dealing with Walter was a lot like what Peter imagined that it would be like to have a child… and Peter, not having any children of his own, was completely unprepared for this display of stubbornness.

"No, Walter," Peter told him sternly, as if he was indeed the parent and Walter was the delinquent child. The younger Bishop then reached down and turned off the TV behind him so that Walter wouldn't be tempted to ignore him. This only seemed to agitate the older man, who tried to protest with a mouth that was now full of food. "Let's go," Peter added. "Go and get whatever you need. Olivia will be here in a few minutes and we're meeting her outside."

"Olivia's coming over?" Walter asked, suddenly brightening up. Peter watched as, to his dismay, rice flew from his father's mouth. The etiquette of eating was clearly something that had been lost during Walter's years at St. Claire's.

"Come on, Walter," Astrid said soothingly, putting her own food down in a spot that she hoped was out of Gene's reach, gently trying to pry Walter's food from his grip as well. "Let's go get your things so you'll be ready when she gets here."

Walter eyed them both with a mixture of annoyance and interest for a minute, only slowly allowing Astrid to set down his container of fried rice. "It'll be fun, Walter," Peter coaxed him, hoping to get him to move a little faster. "When was the last time you got to question someone?" Walter looked at him quizzically, as if it was a trick question, his expression slowly changing to one of confusion.

"Oh… Well, I don't… I can't say that I recall if I've done that particular task before…" Walter mumbled, as much to himself as to Peter. A smile of childlike excitement slowly spread across his face, and he suddenly scrambled to his feet. "I'll just go and get my things," he exclaimed, as if Peter and Astrid hadn't both asked him to do just that a few seconds before. Astrid hurriedly followed him out of the room, hoping to keep him focused, knowing that it might be an impossible task. Peter shook his head and sighed tiredly. It looked like it would be another long night. Just further proof that law enforcement work was not for him – besides the other small but obvious issue of his own criminal past.

Five minutes later, Peter had his keys in his hand and was jingling them impatiently. Walter finally reappeared carrying a small bag and followed by Astrid, who was looking around carefully, as if searching for something that had been misplaced. "Walter, I'll get you some more. You can't hold up the investigation just for that." Peter glanced at Astrid over Walter's shoulder and raised a questioning eyebrow, wondering what they were missing. "Red Vines," the junior agent told him.

"Ahhh," was all Peter could think of to say. This man was simply too much. Looking Walter in the eyes, he asked, "Ready to go?" He could only hope that he was ready to deal with Walter outside of the confines of the lab, though he doubted very much that enough patience for such a task existed in all of the world.

Walter looked around nervously, then began patting his pockets, which Peter assumed was because he was ensuring that something he needed was there. However, he then proceeded to give himself a pat down even more thorough than a TSA secondary screening at an airport security checkpoint. Peter sighed in exasperation, tense because he didn't want to hold Olivia up over something so ridiculous. Because that was exactly what Walter was being.

"Walter, _what_ in the world are you _doing_?" It would have been comical if he'd seen someone else doing it, perhaps a complete stranger, if it hadn't been for the fact that they were pressed for time, and if it hadn't been yet _another_ sign of his father's mental instability. _What the hell am I doing here_? Peter couldn't help but wonder for the thousandth time.

Suddenly Walter stopped moving and stood up straight, looking at Peter as if _he_ was the one behaving strangely, and said "Well, let's get going son, we don't want to keep Agent Dunham waiting!" Peter just shook his head in disbelief, glancing at Astrid. To her credit, she was clearly trying very hard to keep a straight face, though she was failing miserably.

"Right," Peter simply agreed, not having the energy to point out that it was Walter who had been holding them up. Anything he'd said on the subject would have fallen on deaf ears, anyway. Walter seemed to be constantly oblivious to everything but what he _chose_ to focus on, whether or not it was based on reality.

"Good luck, boys," Astrid called as they headed for the door. Peter could hear the chuckle that she was attempting to suppress. He couldn't help but envy the fact that she got to remain behind at the lab, getting a break from Walter's insanity.

Walter had already bounded out the door. Peter turned back in the doorway, his hand on the doorknob, and replied, "Thanks, Astrid. I have a feeling I'm going to need it." They exchanged knowing glances before she saw Peter turn and exclaim, "Shit! Walter – _wait_!" And with that he pulled the door closed hard behind him, leaving Astrid to wonder what in the world she had found herself involved in. This assignment certainly was shaping up to be a strange one – but far more interesting than any other she'd held previously.

When they finally made it to the parking lot closest to the Kresge building, Peter already felt like he'd spent an hour coaxing Walter in the right direction. In reality, it had been five minutes, at the most. It was difficult enough just to convince him to walk forward in a straight line and focus on getting to their meeting point with Olivia. He now felt like he had an understanding of the expression "it was like herding cats."

Thankfully, they hadn't kept her waiting. She pulled up about a minute after they arrived, for which Peter was thankful because he wasn't sure how long he could keep Walter standing in one place before he'd decide to wander off. Peter opened the back door of Olivia's car for Walter, gesturing for him to climb in. Walter, in turn, looked at him as if he had handed him a winning lottery ticket, his face seeming to fill with wonder.

"Why… thank you son. That's so very kind of you."

"Walter, we're in a hurry. Will you just _get in the car_?" Peter growled at him, trying unsuccessfully to keep his frustration under control. "Did I mention that we're in a _hurry_?"

"Oh, yes of course!" Walter exclaimed, as if he hadn't realized that they had an important destination. Once Walter was settled, Peter closed the door after him, finally climbing into the seat beside Olivia and glancing at her apologetically. Though there was absolutely nothing he could do about Walter's behavior, he couldn't help but be embarrassed by it nonetheless.

Olivia's eyes flicked back toward Walter in the rearview mirror as he took his seat, finding him smiling excitedly, peering out the window as if he'd never seen any of it before. Olivia's eyes narrowed slightly in his direction – to which he was, of course, oblivious. Since she'd been away from the lab in New York, she'd been able to minimize Walter's "eccentric" behaviors in her head, but now that she was back and it was being displayed before her eyes once again… She shuddered slightly. It was somewhat frightening to have to depend so heavily on someone who was so clearly... she hesitated to form the word, even in her mind, but at that instant Walter let out a gleeful squeal as a squirrel bounded across the grass nearby, erasing Olivia's hesitation. No, he was clearly insane. There was no doubt about it.

 _But there's no other option,_ she reminded herself. _There's only Walter. He's a brilliant scientist. Insane or not, if there's a way to save John, he's going to have to be the one to do it._ She hazarded a glance at him in the rearview mirror once again, her eyes darting back to her surroundings quickly, not really wanting to see just how crazy he looked as he bounced in his seat like a small child. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked away.

And then there was Peter, who jumped quickly into the seat beside her, as if sensing her impatience. As he hurriedly pulled the door closed behind him, she noticed a slightly embarrassed look on his face, and guessed that it likely had to do with Walter's behavior – despite the fact that she knew that Peter had no control over his father's actions. For a split second she sympathized with Peter, unable to imagine what it would be like to be in his situation.

 _The situation that_ _ **you**_ _put him in_ , she reminded herself with a twinge of guilt. It was gone in seconds, however. She'd learned long ago that there were situations where guilt did nothing but to cloud her thoughts, and so she had learned to erase it. Some cases required her to do things that she wished she didn't have to do, but there was no other choice. A good agent couldn't afford to second guess every decision they made, and guilt had exactly that effect on her.

This is not to say that she was unfeeling. On the contrary, she tended to operate based on a combination of facts _and_ emotion in many cases, unlike most other agents. Most of the time, it seemed to work to her advantage, despite the conventional wisdom that she had been taught. Guilt was simply not one of the emotions that she allowed herself to feel when she knew that she had made the right decision. It was as simple as that.

Despite the shift in her thoughts, her serious expression only changed imperceptibly. However, as she put the car into gear, she couldn't help feeling for just a second that she and Peter were on the same wavelength with the whole Walter situation, despite the fact that no words had been exchanged. Of course, Peter didn't have the same investment in the situation that she did. Then again, in a way his personal involvement, being Walter's son and guardian, trumped hers and almost made them even. Still, no matter the "score," the two of them were there with the same mission: to coax a few moments of lucidity out of Walter towards the end goal of saving a man's life.

And yes, she'd tricked Peter to get him back from Iraq. But she'd come clean about that. It had been a desperate move, but that was exactly what she had been – desperate. He'd had the chance to leave – if she were him, _she_ would have left by now. Hell, she was fairly sure that in Peter's position, _most_ people would have left by now. She didn't expect him to forgive her for tricking him, and she was willing to accept the consequences of her actions. She couldn't see how Peter possibly could understand what she'd done – it had been entirely selfish. Somehow she'd overlooked the fact – which she probably should have deduced from his previous line of work – that Peter Bishop understood _selfish_ very well.

And yet, for some strange reason, he was still there. Every time one of them left the lab, she expected that either he wouldn't return, or that he'd be gone the next time she returned. It wouldn't have surprised her at all if she'd gotten back from her trip to New York to talk to Nina Sharp and found that Peter had left Astrid with Walter and simply disappeared. She kept hoping that he wouldn't though, even though she knew that she had no right to.

 _Why was she hoping that he'd still be there, anyway?_ She couldn't answer that.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that there'd been something in his eyes when he'd tried to talk her out of going into the tank… Something that she'd noticed in his eyes when she'd finally been able to breathe normally again after he'd pulled her _out_ of the tank… Something in his eyes when he'd insisted on driving her back to the Federal Building, even though it left him catching a bus back to the lab immediately upon arriving there. There was something about the way that he looked at her that she didn't understand. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't sure she _wanted_ to understand it.

No, she wouldn't have been _surprised_ if he'd just disappeared into thin air at any point since she'd told him the truth about how she'd tricked him, but despite her best efforts, she would have been _disappointed_ if he had. Because try as she might to tell herself that it wouldn't matter, she couldn't quite bring herself to believe it. There was simply something about him that she couldn't explain, something that made her hope that he would continue to be there, despite the fact that she knew without a doubt that eventually, he just wouldn't be.

She prided herself on not needing people – she had learned very early on that it was easier that way – and of course it would be ridiculous to go so far as to say that she needed him. After all, they'd only known each other for a few days. She needed _Walter_ , yes, because he could save John… or she hoped desperately that he could. But Peter? Logically, there was no reason why she would need him, other than the obvious – that he was Walter's guardian, and she needed Walter.

She couldn't figure out if she believed that that was all she needed Peter for because she actually believed it, or because she _wanted_ to believe it. But if that was actually the case, then why was she so relieved every time she realized that he was still around?

Glancing at Peter in the car beside her as she pulled back into traffic to drive the three of them to the scene where they'd hopefully get to answers from their suspect, she was surprised to find that he was watching her curiously, with a look that she couldn't quite understand. The only thing she did understand was that things didn't seem quite as bleak with him there, like she could dare to hope that this whole crazy thing might work. That maybe they really could save John. After all, that was why they were doing all this. As far as finding the _explanations_ for what had happened to him – all of the who, what, when, where and how that was usually so important in a case – all that could wait until after they'd saved him.

Peter watched her glance in the mirror at Walter and saw her jaw tighten each time. He could relate to that feeling all too well, and he almost wanted to say something to that effect, to attempt to lessen her frustration by empathizing with her over the need to depend on Walter despite his obvious insanity. But of course, he knew that she had a lot more than just irritation with Walter on her mind, and it was very possible that that wasn't actually what she was thinking about at all. Her face was so stormy that, while he regretted that he couldn't do anything to fix the problems she was having, he figured that he could at least stay quiet and give her a little peace – an idea that had obviously _not_ occurred to Walter.

Peter was a bit surprised at himself, actually, since his habit was usually to break awkward silences with his dry – and often unappreciated – humor. But something told him that this wasn't the time for that. After all, it wasn't hard to guess that Olivia wasn't one for idle chitchat, and she was clearly wound very tightly at that moment.

From the backseat, Walter rattled on and on about what he was looking at out the windows and the various things they reminded him of from St. Claire's, "the mental institution where I lived for seventeen years," as he kept telling them, despite the fact that they knew exactly what it was and how long he'd lived there. Peter heard a small sigh escape from Olivia after what felt like the thousandth time that Walter had mentioned St. Claire's in the space of ten minutes or so. He imagined that she was probably wishing that she could hit the mute button on Walter just as much as he was. He looked over at her and could see the stress that she was under was written clearly across her face.

He was still watching her, considering whether there was anything he could say that would be of any use whatsoever, when she happened to glance over at him. A look passed between them that he couldn't quite read, despite his supposed talent for doing exactly that. She held eye contact with him for only a split second, and yet it felt so significant that he couldn't help but feel almost as though an electric charge had passed between them that had contained some kind of important communication. Something that he could understand at some higher level, even though he couldn't for the life of him understand what it had actually _said_.

He continued to watch her for a long few seconds, before turning his eyes to the road ahead of them to keep from staring at her, directing his confusion toward the outside world. He wasn't quite sure what had just happened, only that his desire to get away from Boston, which had been coming and going over the past few days, once again felt farther away than he had expected. He wasn't sure exactly what good he could do by sticking around this small, eccentric group, but something told him that staying had been the right thing to do.

 _Just for now_ , he told himself. After all, he didn't do the whole staying in one place thing. He never had, and he didn't plan to start. _No, not forever. Just for now._

Those few words calmed any sense of panic that might have otherwise crept into his head at the thought that this time he might actually want to stay somewhere, for whatever reason. There wasn't any reason _for_ him to stay in Boston, after all. Not long term, anyway. Not for Walter, most definitely. He might feel a little guilty about it, but he'd be glad when he could return him to St. Claire's, where he so clearly belonged.

And Olivia? She needed _Walter_ to help save John, the guy that she was obviously in love with. She didn't actually need _him_. To let himself think so would only be to appease his ego. He wondered why he felt the prick of annoyance at the thought that she didn't need him, but dismissed it. It was obviously because the fact that someone needed Walter, who was clearly out of his mind, but had no actual use for _him_ , a guy who was pretty freakin' brilliant, rubbed him the wrong way. _Better get your ego in check, Bishop_ , he told himself.

Yes, after this crazy mess that the FBI called a case was over with, he would move on. It didn't really matter where. Anywhere but Boston.


	13. Interest

**Disclaimer: I only** _ **wish**_ **that I owned Fringe, so I could have them make another 100 episodes.**

When they pulled up to the scene, there were already a half dozen other units there, all keeping back as they'd been told to. Walter was bouncing up and down in the back seat like a kid on his way to Disney World. Olivia threw the car into Park quickly and was about to jump out of the car, almost forgetting that she had two other people there with her.

At the last second she stopped, turning back towards Peter. She knew that she'd been the one who'd _asked_ them to come, but now she was realizing that she was uncomfortable with the arrangement. They were unknown variables, after all – especially Walter. She needed them there, of course, and that in itself made her uncomfortable as well. She disliked the loss of control that came with needing others. She always had.

"I need you two to _stay here,_ " she told Peter firmly, then focused an even more serious look on Walter's giddy face for several seconds, attempting to make him see that this wasn't supposed to be _fun_ , as he seemed to think. It was difficult to determine if he was actually listening, however. He looked far too excited to be understanding the seriousness of the situation, which would be exactly what she would expect out of the scientist. She could imagine it now: Peter would look away for a second, Walter would see something he thought was "Splendid," and then he'd slip off to investigate it and end up in harm's way. It was _exactly_ how things could go – if not worse – if she didn't make sure he understood the dangers.

"Walter, did you hear me?"

She continued to fix her intense stare on him until he nervously met her eyes, nodding seriously and uttering the words, "I hear you, Agent Dunham. I'm to remain in the car with Peter and wait until I'm told to get out. For my own safety, of course." Nodding with as much confidence as she could have that someone like Walter would actually hold himself to his promise, she looked back at Peter.

The look he was giving her was a mix of understanding and… amusement? _Why would he be looking amused?_ she wondered. _He should understand the seriousness of what we're doing…_

Peter watched as her face quickly clouded over with confusion. _Does she really not think I understand how to handle myself in this kind of situation?_ he wondered. She knew about his past – some of it, anyway – and that should have been enough to tell her that he had pretty good judgement around people who could be dangerous. If he hadn't, he wouldn't still be alive, after all.

"I'll keep my eye on Walter, don't worry," he told her before she could say anything.

She nodded slowly at him as well, but he could tell that there was something else she wanted to say. He waited patiently for her to gather her thoughts, knowing that it wouldn't be long. "Peter," she began less than a minute later, "try not to find yourself in the middle of things…"

He raised his eyebrows at her, pretending that he was offended. He was actually touched by her concern for his safety, but he held back a smile. He couldn't help but give her a hard time. It was just too much fun. "Agent Dunham, are you suggesting that I would put myself purposely into _danger_?"

Looking back at him evenly, she replied slowly, as if she was choosing her words very carefully. There was more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. "Oh no, of _course_ not. However, while I may not have known you very long, somehow it wouldn't surprise if that kind of thing just tended to… _happen_ to you. But not because you went out of your way _looking_ for danger."

He grinned back at her innocently, as if he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about, as Walter looked back and forth from one of them to the other in confusion. Olivia held eye contact with Peter for a few more seconds, as if she was lost in thought over something that she couldn't quite figure out. Even while she kept eye contact with him, she began pulling on the door handle with her left hand and pushing her door open. There was a rush of cold air, and then suddenly she turned away, getting out of the car.

"Olivia," Peter called just before she pushed her door closed. She bent down and poked her head back through the door frame, snow flurries floating down around her.

"Yeah?" she asked quickly, her skin already turning pink from the cold.

"You be careful, too," he told her, suddenly feeling self-conscious, as if he'd just willingly showed his hand in a card game. Of course, she was an FBI agent and she was more than familiar with dangerous situations. He _knew_ that. She certainly didn't need a reminder to be careful. No, he realized after the words left his mouth, his words reflected more about his worry for her safety than actually doing anything useful.

 _Wait… I'm worried about her safety?_ Somehow, the idea surprised him.

 _Well sure,_ he rationalized quickly _, you're not a_ _ **monster**_ _. You don't wish harm to come to her. She's a good agent and a good person, even if she is kinda a pain in the ass. And she's possibly the most loyal person you've ever met... I mean, look what she's doing to save the guy she loves, to make it right. Even_ _ **you**_ _can't be so cynical that you don't admire that kind of loyalty – even if you've never experienced it._

Somewhere deep inside, his last thought touched a nerve. No, while he understood the concept of loyalty in theory, he'd never really felt it. It made him admire people who _were_ so obviously loyal, like Olivia, that much more. What must that feel like? To feel so connected to a cause or a person that you would do anything for them? He knew that to be one of those "connected people" it generally helped to be settled enough to have a place to call home. Most people did, but not him. Since he'd been old enough to leave Boston, he hadn't had a true home _or_ real connections with people – if he'd _ever_ had those at all - so he supposed it made sense.

Even though he had been raised in Boston, it had never felt like home for whatever reason. Nowhere had ever felt quite right, and after traveling around the world for so many years, he'd eventually just accepted the idea that he didn't need a place to call home, even convinced himself that he didn't _want_ one. It was easier to do what he did if he could go anywhere, which was what he did.

After all, even here in Boston, where he'd been raised, as a child he'd vaguely remembered feeling an intense longing to go home – which didn't make sense, because Boston was supposed to _be_ his home. If he didn't feel at home in the city where he'd grown up, it didn't seem likely that he'd have much luck anywhere else. And so he'd given up on the idea long ago.

She smiled back at him then, blushing slightly that he'd s seen through her words and feeling something that she couldn't quite identify. It surprised her that he'd noticed her round-about way of telling him to be careful, of knowing what she meant beyond just the words that she'd used. Then again, he _was_ a genius. _Maybe, just maybe, he isn't so bad…_ she thought grudgingly. _When he isn't being an absolute pain in the ass, at least._

Without another word, her door was closed and she was gone, leaving the Bishops alone in the car, the snow falling gently as they waited.

XXX

Staying in the car, especially with Walter, was driving Peter _crazy_. Sure, he was developing a tolerance to the man who his father had become, but he was still pretty irritating. Peter knew that this wasn't the most dangerous case that Olivia had ever worked, mostly because otherwise she wouldn't have brought them along. Of course, there was _always_ danger in this line of work, and it didn't have to be the "most dangerous" case for something to go wrong and someone to get hurt. That was the nature of the unpredictable situations.

Their jobs (if he could call his work that) had that in common. Peter had also put himself into more direct danger than this many times in the name of his "work," so between his own experience and because he _knew_ how smart he was, he sat in the car itching to be more helpful than just babysitting the crazy scientist who may or may not be their team's interrogator.

It wasn't too much longer, however, before Peter got his chance to make himself useful. As he sat and listened to Walter beg him not to send him back to St. Claire's, he'd also kept a lookout for anything suspicious from their vantage point in the car. Suddenly, Peter saw the man they were there to apprehend and question come out of a back door at the basement level, slipping around the corner of the building. In a few seconds, he would be out of sight, and the FBI agents nearby hadn't seen him. Peter knew that if he didn't act quickly, the man would get away.

"Hey!" Peter yelled several times, jumping out of the car and telling his father, _Stay right there, Walter_ , before closing the door behind him. He kept yelling to get the attention of Olivia or any of the other agents before taking off after the man himself.

Peter didn't stop to ask himself why this was important enough to him to put himself, a civilian, albeit one with very special skills, into a situation that could so easily go wrong. There wasn't _time_ to think about that. He wasn't one to put himself in danger unless there was something in it for him. Hell, he could admit that these days, he didn't do much of anything unless there was something in it for him… or at least that had been the way he operated until now. Until he'd been forced back to Boston.

When he'd been dragged back from Iraq by Agent Olivia Dunham, there'd certainly been something in it for him – not having his cover blown. But since he'd found out that that had been a lie, everything had changed. Because ever since then, nothing he'd done had been because there had been anything in it for him. He'd forgotten what it was like to live that way – to do things _just because_ …

And why _was_ he doing the things he was doing now? Case in point, why had he jumped out of the car to chase after the man that Olivia wanted Walter to question? Peter himselfwouldn't benefit from it in any way. The ones who stood to benefit were John Scott, if catching this guy helped him stay alive, and Olivia, because she obviously cared about him. So why in the world was _he_ doingthis?

There was no time to wonder about that now, as he slipped as quickly as he could through the snow in pursuit of the man they'd come to apprehend. They ran down the sidewalk and across a wide road, with Peter narrowly avoiding oncoming cars as he tried not to lose sight of him.

When Olivia suddenly realized that Peter was in pursuit of the suspect, she was caught off guard. _Didn't I just tell him_ _ **not**_ _to end up in the middle of things?_ She didn't have time to be annoyed or frustrated with him, however, because she was too busy chasing the same man. She caught up to her target by taking the underpass under the same road that Peter had run across, following him into an apartment building, then up the fire escape and all the way up to the roof. She no longer saw Peter, figuring that he must have gone another way around.

 _Please tell me this guy's not going to jump,_ she thought. This was happening as he ran full speed toward the edge and then hurled himself toward the building next door, landing on the fire escape. Having no other choice if she wanted to follow him, that's exactly what she did a few seconds later, landing just behind him. It wouldn't be the first time she'd jumped off a building, and probably not the last either.

The suspect took off running again, and Olivia took the more direct way down, jumping over the side of the fire escape railing and landing on the lid of a dumpster below, rolling to the ground with a thud. _I'm gonna be a little sore tomorrow_ , she thought as she pushed herself up as quickly as she should.

She stood up just in time to see Peter tackle the man to the ground, pinning him down and punching him in the face repeatedly. Hurrying over, she pressed her foot against his shoulder and pointed her gun in his face. "We've got some questions for you," she told him.

The two of them held him down until the other agents caught up with them, handcuffing him and forcing him up roughly, despite his protests. It was only then that they took a step back and caught their breath, nodding at each other.

"So, uh, I guess I should apologize for not staying in the car…?" he said without a hint of a smile, though she knew his was his deadpan humor again.

She made a face at him, shaking her head slowly. What _was_ it with this guy? _Because he wants to hear you say it,_ the voice in her head told her. "No, I'm glad you didn't," she replied, looking away uncomfortably.

He wanted to say something smart, but it seemed like this side of her was one she didn't like to show in the first place, so decided not to push his luck. Watching her with interest, he noted that her eyes swept their surroundings before coming to rest on his again, and that when they did, she smiled nervously, looking away for a second.

"We should probably get back and check on Walter," he told her. He could only imagine what kind of trouble his father might have gotten into in the time he'd been left alone.

Nodding in agreement, she started back in that direction without another word. _We actually made a pretty good team today_ , she thought in surprise.

Peter was a few steps behind her, and noticed her limping slightly. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked with concern, catching up with her.

"What?" she asked in confusion.

"You're limping," he said, gesturing vaguely toward her feet. "Are you hurt?"

"Oh, uh, I'm a little sore. It's no big deal," she replied, shaking her head quickly.

 _Why does she feel like she can't admit even the smallest weakness?_ he wondered, not for the first time since he'd known her.

"Right… You just jumped off a building, landed _on your feet_ on the fire escape of the building across the alley – though you slammed pretty hard into the side of the building, I have to say… You jumped off of the fire escapeonto a dumpster and then rolled off and fell on the ground," he recounted sarcastically. "You're right, it's no big deal."

She grimaced, blushing slightly. "Oh, you saw that, did you?"

"So let me try this again. Are you okay?" he asked again.

"I'm fine, I promise," Olivia replied, wearing a forced smile.

He could see that the smile didn't reach her eyes. Even if she got hurt a lot in her job, she _had_ to be in some pain. However, he could also see that she wasn't going to admit to being in pain unless she had absolutely no choice. He wasn't sure how someone could be so stubborn and frustrating and yet so fascinating at the same time. _You do love a challenge_ , he reminded himself.

They set off toward the car side by side, Peter glancing at her frequently to try to determine if she really _was_ okay. She continued to limp slightly, despite her obvious but unsuccessful efforts to hide it, and he wondered a few times when she nearly lost her balance if he would need to catch her. He wasn't sure whether doing so was wise, knowing how fiercely independent she was. And after all, she _was_ the one with the gun…

When they reached the throng of FBI and local police cars, Olivia had to wave away the EMTs who wanted to check her for injuries. She told them the same thing that she'd told Peter – "I'm fine, I promise." Even the more persistent ones gave up quickly, seeing that they weren't going to get anywhere.

Walter, unbelievably, had stayed in the car, though he was pale with anxiety when they finally reached him. Between the waiting and hearing the commotion not far away, he was quite worked up, even for Walter. He peppered the two of them with more questions than they could answer before they'd even climbed inside the car. They did their best to answer them, but finally Peter had to beg him to calm down so they could try to catch their breath in peace. Walter stayed quiet for a full three minutes before he began talking again, though when he did it was more his usual style of conversation, in which he picked the most seemingly random topic and held conversations half with himself anyway.

They fell silent except for Walter's mumbles from the back seat on the way to the Federal Building, Peter and Olivia occasionally glancing at each other but not saying anything. She couldn't help but be surprised she was that she _wasn't_ furious at Peter for joining in the chase the way he had. She'd noticed that he generally seemed to have very good instincts, and without any coordination they'd been able to chase down their subject by taking two complimentary paths – hers having been a slightly more punishing one at the end.

That being said, in the end he'd been there to tackle the guy to the ground while she'd been busy bruising herself by falling off the dumpster – possibly _not_ her best decision, she could admit that much… though she would _not_ be admitting to him how much her descent from the roof had actually hurt. What did it matter to him anyway?

Could she have done it without him? Probably…

 _Except that he was the one who saw the guy make a break for it in the first place,_ a voice reminded her.

 _Okay, okay,_ she conceded. _He was helpful._

As she turned off the car's motor in the parking garage, she looked at Peter in the seat beside her. "I'm sure you won't be surprised to know that civilians are _not_ supposed to be chasing down suspects," she told him firmly. He opened his mouth to protest, but she shook her head and continued before he had a chance. "That being said, you… if you hadn't been there, he may have gotten away. I don't want you to make a habit of it, but…" She paused, pursing her lips. _I'm terrible at this,_ she thought. Shaking her head and suddenly chuckling at herself, she looked back at him. "Thank you for your help," she said, finally getting to the point.

He smiled back at her warmly, getting the feeling that her simple "thank you," unlike her "I'm fine," was truly genuine. "You're welcome," he replied. He didn't quite understand what had possessed him to take off running after the guy, except that catching him was important to Olivia, and it had apparently become important to him, too. _I never pegged you for a guy who was desperate to do the right thing, Bishop,_ he told himself.

"And you were right," she said suddenly, as they were releasing their seatbelts and reaching for the door handles. He looked back at her in surprise and confusion, wondering what he'd been right about. "I'm _really_ sore," she admitted.

He smiled broadly then, _not_ because she was sore, but because she'd decided to admit it to him. It was a small thing, insignificant really, and a very strange thing to bring such a wide smile to his face. Still, he knew enough about her already to know that letting her guard down was not something she did easily, and therefore that small admission was actually much bigger than the three words that she'd actually said. The fact that she was willing to say them was the part that was momentous.

She had no reason to assume that he knew what a big step that was for her… except that from the look on his face, somehow she thought that he understood. Feeling like someone understood her was a strange and unfamiliar feeling as far as she was concerned, though not an unpleasant one.

"I'm sorry to hear that," he replied. "Can I find you some painkillers while you start the interrogation?"

She shook her head quickly, seeming to retreat slightly into her usual slightly detached demeanor. But her smile hadn't disappeared completely, only faltered. "Maybe later," she said as she pushed open the car door. "The other agents won't have gotten him back here yet, but it won't be long. Walter and I need to chat about what exactly we need to find out." Walter perked up at the sound of his name, nodding eagerly.

With that, the three of them headed into the Federal Building. As always, there was a great deal of work ahead of them.


End file.
